


The More Loving One

by alostautumn2k16



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, Capital Punishment, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Pining, Side / Past Laysoo, Smoking & Alcohol, Unrequited Love, historical setting, implied/past chanbaek, writers au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 56,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alostautumn2k16/pseuds/alostautumn2k16
Summary: “Love is universal. Love is healing. Love is challenging. So I will always write about love.”-Late-1950s. High Society. Chanyeol, a successful writer, becomes entangled in the complex life of Do Kyungsoo, a fallen high-flyer, with a shadowy past, bright eyes, and lips full of beautiful blue petals.[high society x hanahaki x au]





	1. The Very Thought Of You

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: hiii guys! So this is being written because I feel like it’s been a looooong while since I wrote an angst piece TT. So this will be authorlen’s angst offering of 2018 ahaha please accept it with kindness c: 
> 
> There’s lots of love as well— but with this sad disease, it can never be super happy really :c it’s a love story but it also lowkey acts as a reflective piece for me as it’s also about what it’s like as a writer, writing about love all the time c: although i haven’t written a piece about falling in love from the ground-up for a while! So i’m excited c: 
> 
> This will be in four long messy parts. The updates may be weekly or so because the writing style I am trying is still a bit fiddly and so I’m trying to get used to it haha welp c: and I am using this as a comfy prelude before I start another longlonglong WIP ^^ (( if this goes over 50k~please can you all flick me on the forehead for real v_v )) 
> 
> This story was inspired by the poem “The More Loving One” by W.H. Auden, and the songs “Sky Full Of Song” by Florence + The Machine and “I Can’t Make You Love Me” by Bonnie Raitt (;-;) 
> 
> This chapter isn’t very angsty yet so give it a try even if angst isn’t your thing ahah! More tags and warnings and allusions to the ending will be added as i write and update. 
> 
> Be well lovely EXO-L! Thank you for reading! Enjoy :3

  
-
    
    
    **How should we like it were stars to burn**
    With a passion for us we could not return?
    If equal affection cannot be,
    Let the more loving one be me.
    
    w.h. auden, _the more loving one_
    

-

 

-

 

The room was scorching hot from the onslaught of light. Any efforts to alleviate the temperature was quickly thwarted by the simple observation that it was the middle of winter. They had tried their best to handle the problem, from introducing a light draught through an open hallway window (unsatisfactory), opening many hallway windows (hypothermic). But it soon became clear that the room of academics, journalists, literary enthusiasts and friends had no choice but to be stranded in this unnatural heat.

Fortunately, they appeared happy to do so and not a single figure dared to leave the room or air a serious complaint.

“It’s perfect, he’s perfect. Stop fussing.” 

After all, nobody in the room was unaccustomed to the pain of press afternoons. They were always the same. Always warm. Always hosted in a tiny uptown drawing room at a friend’s home. Always conducted with crumbling books in the background and a large mahogany desk that retained the smell of decaying varnish. There was always bubbly alcoholic drink, fresh vegetable and meat canapes, and the excitable chatters of old friends unexpectedly running into each other. 

“His cheeks need powdering. He looks like a _ghost_. We’re promoting an author, not a corpse, Junmyeon.” 

“Oh, do what you want to do.” 

“I will.” 

The author -- and therefore the assigned host of this conference -- Park Chanyeol offered his literary agent, Kim Junmyeon, and his stylist, an amused laugh. Understandably, there were no mirrors in this specific reading room so he couldn’t assess whether his complexion was as ghostly as she had accused. 

“Stop flirting, the both of you.”

“Don’t start, Chanyeol.” Junmyeon frowned.

“Ignore him.” Chanyeol murmured to the laughing stylist as she glided over his blazer sleeve with a careful hand to pluck out any stray lint, “He’s just nervous because Kim Minseok is next to interview me. He’s a ferocious inquisitor. Look at him.”

Across him, in an identical grey buttonback chair, Kim Minseok was grinning. He was dressed as working-class journalists often were: in a noticeably oversized suit, borrowed from a superior, like an editor or a friend with expensive tastes. The trousers were tar black and far too long - so they swayed against his copper-coloured shoes.

Minseok was the third journalist to occupy that seat that afternoon. Observing them rise and fall, in turn as they completed their slot, Chanyeol progressively felt like an employer conducting a public interview for a position. Impress me, his stance challenged them - broad, open, and confident in his tailored navy silk suit that was flown in only that morning as a gift from his sister in Cannes. 

He liked Minseok the best however. There was very little to dislike about the good-humoured journo who took his alcohol like an expert and whose dark eyes struck Chanyeol with mirth every time he saw them. They were indescribably unique - cat-like - and dazzled with both mischief and virtue. He was a charming beauty, easily proved in the flustered whispers of a few ladies that Chanyeol detected from behind him. 

“Please, Minseok.” Chanyeol placed elegant fingers over his lips and then delivered them across in a faint imitation of a kiss, “Take the stage. Make me sweat.” 

A harmony of laughter swept across the crowd until it reached the journalist and lit a dim fire in his eyes. He cleared his throat theatrically, smiling, before he delivered his question in a loud and enthusiastic voice. 

 

“An internship at _The Times_ at the age of seventeen. A published poet at twenty one. An award-winning poet at 23. A successful novelist at the age of twenty six. Your most recent work, _A Tender Love_ sold tens of thousands of copies. What is next for Park Chanyeol?”

 

The question prompted the author to laugh bashfully but it was his agent who would transcribe his reaction into words.

“Come now, Minseok. You’re a member of Hyunho’s team from _The Times_. You’re part of the elite squad. I’m sure everyone here expects a better question than that. Hyunho included. He would have your pass if I said that this is what his beloved junior brought to Chanyeol’s press afternoon.” 

The laughter from the accessories in the room returned: louder and crueller. 

“Alright. It’s not my only question, okay?” Minseok laughed handsomely as he arranged his notes on his lap, “Fine. I’ll be bolder then, shall I? _Mr. Park._ Every piece you have published in your career has been about the immovable cornerstones of romance and love. Will your next work follow a similar line? Will you finally attempt to challenge yourself and your readers the next time?”

The reaction to that was mixed and subdued. Minseok’s smile appeared strained but he committed to uphold it, aware that it was the only remnant that served to soften the buried disapproval beneath his query. The room was tense, resembling the airless atmosphere that follows after a joke falls flat in a populated comedy club. 

But to make a room laugh, it often only required one person to start it off.

Chanyeol chose to play with him and the room by remaining mysteriously expressionless for a long unnecessary moment, before he laughed loudly and clapped his hands. 

“I love that question. Questions. You asked two, yes?” 

The room relaxed, _exhaled_ even, with the faint ticks of the distant grandfather clock once again audible. The smell of champagne returned to the air, carrying life and conversation as the enthusiastic guests came to life. The journalist seemed the most relieved, rising from where he had relapsed into his chair and fitting back into his suit as he prepared to take Chanyeol’s answers.

“My answer to you is simple. Love is universal. Love is healing. Love is challenging.” Chanyeol retorted, _loving_ the way love rolled off his tongue like a lyric, “So I will always write about love.”

“Always?” 

“Always.”

Later, a picture was taken of the author embracing the journalist tightly in his large arms. The laughter that occurred behind it, although occluded in the still image, was almost elementally captured in the way their eyes shone in delight. In the knowing way that people’s eyes shone when they were the centre of attention in a room with phenomenal energy.

 

 

 

 

The reception was hosted at a newly opened bar called _The Elyxion_. After a few hours of entertaining his admirers, the author shared a quiet moment with his agent and a box of cigarettes outside. Junmyeon, who had spent most of the afternoon puffing and red-faced, finally appeared relaxed. It was the expected emotional sedation that came from a job well-done and returned him to his natural state as the young charming friend Chanyeol adored so much.

“How did I come across?” Chanyeol asked, drawing deep from the cigarette as he turned to the other man.

“Handsome. Charming.” Junmyeon said the words coldly like insults, aware that they were words Chanyeol must have heard a hundred times that day alone, “But a little cold towards the end. Is something the matter?” 

There was nobody better practiced than Junmyeon in reading the subtleties of Chanyeol’s disposition. The author had such noticeably big facial features that it was easy to overlook the meager changes that otherwise betrayed his cool and happy image. It could be as slight as a tired turn on the corner of his smiling lips or the narrowing of the brows resting above his delighted eyes. But Junmyeon knew him well, having spent years growing up with his junior and studying his best shots for his agency portraits.

Chanyeol was also in possession of big emotions and sometimes he needed a helping hand to engage with them. It was the expected burden of a hectic and inquiring mind; it was easy to lose and misconstrue things. Fortunately, Junmyeon took his responsibilities as both a friend and agent very seriously. 

“I suppose it must be the trial of the mobster,” began Chanyeol uncertainly, “Sehun has asked me to come with him. It’s his father’s big case and all. I don’t feel particularly taken by it. It just sounds like a media circus. I’d rather be at home resting but he’s insistent.”

“The Zhang case?” 

Chanyeol nodded his head as the details flashed in quick succession in his head: Zhang Yixing, 28, summoned to the city’s judges on accounts of criminal activity related to organised crime which encompasses two direct allegations of first degree murder.

“Oh yes. It has ruffled our circles quite a bit.” Junmyeon responded as he added in a lower whisper, “Half of the city has some connection to his family. I can’t begin to think how deeply this case must run. Every Uncle and Aunt with over ten thousand dollars in their vault out there must be going mad.”

Chanyeol fell silent, slowing his breaths, allowing the raucous sound of the music and chatter from behind them to fill the new space. Junmyeon then smiled at him as if he’d said something witty. He reached across and patted Chanyeol’s shoulder who naturally rested against him as he flicked the cigarette aptly below and crushed it with his shoe.

“Don’t make me go, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol whined, half-hearted for he knew he would never dare go back on a promise and he had promised Sehun.

“You should go.” Junmyeon placed a gentle hand on his head, “You never know, Chanyeol. Something might catch your eye. Something always does, with you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chanyeol was meant to meet Sehun inside but he was running late after taking a phone call from a panicked family member. Not about this case, although the possibility of it had uneased him the night before, as the son of one of the wealthiest in the city. 

No. His sister’s panic had been associated with something benign like the weather or ladies fashion. He couldn’t really remember now, now that he was running for the courthouse, out of breath and irritable. It wasn’t important and he certainly wasn’t unnerved about having forgotten about it. Sometimes, when people were anxious about something, all they demanded was a passive ear - and for Chanyeol’s siblings, that was often enough. They were more than accustomed to their brother’s fleeting attention span. 

But he was late and the large stone steps to the courthouse was heaving with people. It appeared as if the entire city had come to spectate on this huge criminal case. Was Chanyeol the only one that seemed comfortably disenchanted by it all?

The police officers cordoned the crowd as best as they could and Chanyeol became caught up in the mass. Two smaller ladies squeezed on either side of him, both not of the media scene thankfully as he wasn’t anywhere near the mood for conversation. From a single glance he guessed that they were secretaries: flagged by their office wear, smooth bun hairstyles, and deeply coloured skirts that never creased. He wondered then why they were so curious, what was so enticing about this case that it had roused them from their office desks, until a set of cars pulled up and the criminal himself appeared. 

Never had Chanyeol experienced a crowd so large grow so quiet in a single effortless sweep of movement. 

The famed Zhang Yixing passed, head bowed, escorted by a host of police officers in a sturdy circle. They walked to the courthouse and up the steps with procedural accuracy and the crowd let them, confining the only prominent commotion to the flashing cameras of the media personnel. 

For the author, whose eyes were big and scope for observation bigger still, his gaze rightly skimmed the surface of the prisoner’s huddle and fell on a figure stood almost directly across him on the other side. He was indescribably _distinct_ \-- not due to his attire, or form, but the intensity of his expression. 

He was crying. 

Chanyeol would go as far as to say that he was _hysterically crying_ for his entire figure appeared to be wrecked with shivers, resembling a building readying to shatter, as he held his hands to his mouth. He then bowed his head forwards, imitating the accused, and pulled his arms in as if to constrain his own violence as he stifled himself against his gloved fists. 

Chanyeol wouldn’t be surprised if he had silenced an agonizing scream. 

As the prisoner passed, the stark camera lights stalked him, creating a trail of light and shadows. But for Chanyeol, his attention became completely absorbed with the stranger. This wasn’t a funeral; this wasn’t even anything.

Yet there he was, crying, _suffering_.

And then he was going, slipping between the figures behind him whom were dying for a glimpse of the mobster. Without any further thought, Chanyeol followed him out, all the animation of the crowd behind him blending into a quiet background as he crossed the steps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The stranger entered a bar. 

Chanyeol entered after him, unrelenting in his focus, slowing down only when he secured the man’s position as the lone figure on a tall stool by the bar counter. He was still wiping his eyes when Chanyeol finally approached him, only aware now of how breathless and cold the brisk walk from the courtroom had been. 

“Handkerchief?” Chanyeol offered the man, producing one courteously as he recovered his own breath.

“I have my own, thank you.”

The man spoke steadily for someone who had wept as much as he had. He was small but his fingers which rested, curved against the solid counter, were noticeably long. Musician’s fingers. He turned his head and gazed up at him, rewarding Chanyeol with a company of new observations. He had a handsome and masculine face: enviably thick eyebrows, a hard jaw, and faint lines accosted his forehead which was commonplace in thinkers and worriers.

His dark eyes were deep and shocked-wide, still shining with tears, and his state had lent his cheeks a faint blush of colour. Impossible to define in the dim lighting of the bar, but Chanyeol imagined that his cheeks were pink. Pink like his full lips were pink, although how Chanyeol could identify that was beyond him, as again, the bar was unhelpfully dim.

There was a noticeable height difference between them which was further marked because the man was seated. However, aside from the softness of his face, the stranger expressed little vulnerability in the space he occupied. He was staunchly formed and straightened up to speak to Chanyeol with an air of trained confidence.

“Do I know you?” the stranger posed in the same deep, unbothered voice as he narrowed his eyes at Chanyeol, highlighting the sheen of his eyes. His expression was boyish and charming, not at all hostile, as he spoke again with a softer voice.

“You’re a writer aren’t you? I think I’ve seen you in a magazine.” 

Which magazine? Chanyeol was left with the irrational need to know what type of reader the stranger was. 

“Yes. I’m Park Chanyeol.” 

“A Park. Well of course. Your family has written a quarter of the bestsellers this past century.” The stranger’s lips bloomed into a friendly smile, revealing a set of perfect teeth, before the expression faded, mouth softening into the same shy line, “So what can I do for you, Mr. Park?”

“You have yet to introduce yourself.” Chanyeol reminded him, only now becoming aware of his own appearance as he placed a conscious hand on his chest before occupying the stool beside the man. 

“Pardon me. I’m Do Kyungsoo.”

Chanyeol repeated the name in his head as he entertained the handshake with the usual formal rigidity. 

The name was familiar -- the surname even more so. This wasn’t surprising in the least considering that those who dwelled in the upper chasms of society tended to punctuate their positions by standing in solidarity and interacting only with each other. It was a stubborn philosophy but ensured that everyone was offered the opportunity to use this existing and shared amicability to associate with whoever they wanted. Within reason, of course.

However, it was, in Chanyeol’s experience, exceptionally rare to meet someone of the same class so late in life. 

The bartender offered them both drinks despite Chanyeol being convinced that he hadn’t called him once. Kyungsoo drained his with garish confidence, head tilting backwards, exposing a sturdy throat and neck.

“Are you related to Park Chanho?” said Kyungsoo after he recovered, presumably a veiled way of informing Chanyeol that he was reading him and his thoughts as quickly as the author was indulging in his. 

“He’s my older brother.” Chanyeol said as he emptied his drink. He tasted gin but identified nothing else. The drink was lukewarm and notably sharp like juice from unripe limes.

Kyungsoo’s eyes remained on his as he rested his elbow on the counter and with his long fingers drew a gesture in the air to demand another round. 

“My step-father owned a lake-house next to yours. I remember your brother. We must have all played together. Do you remember it?”

Park Chanho was two years older than Chanyeol. He was shorter and stockier and compared to his graceless daydreamer of a sibling, naturally _brutish_. 

Chanyeol wondered if the man’s memories of Chanho were pleasant ones. He liked his brother enough but he couldn’t say he missed him as much as his sisters. What followed was a sudden stab of jealousy that this stranger would remember someone as coarse as Chanho over him. Now it was the opposite. Now Chanyeol was the capital of everyone’s conversations and he couldn’t help but feel comforted to know that Do Kyungsoo would meet him at the very peak of his life. 

“Which lake-house was it?” 

Chanyeol’s family owned many. Kyungsoo laughed. It was an awkwardly breathy but pleasant laugh and his lips seemed to shape into an even prettier line with it.

“You’re cool.” Kyungsoo said as he beckoned for Chanyeol to take his drink which had appeared magically across them despite the author never noticing a single motion behind the counter. Kyungsoo looked to tire of the subject as he moved the conversation on, choosing to sip his drink next. “Funny that I would run into you today of all days.” 

“Yes I saw you at the courthouse. You seemed upset.” Chanyeol responded.

Kyungsoo’s glass was empty. He stared at it for a moment, massaging the neck of the glass between his fingers. Against the shadowy lights, a hideous combination of a dimming amber from behind the counter and a blazing white from the short set of stage lights, Kyungsoo’s eyes appeared to grow tearful again. They were an actor’s eyes, Chanyeol surmised: expressive and reflective enough that Chanyeol also detected some sadness in himself despite having no reason to be sad.

“Of course. It’s a tragedy.” Kyungsoo spoke. “He could get a death sentence. A life sentence. Those might be the last steps he ever takes on this city’s pavements and now all he would remember are those horrid cameras.”

“But he’s a terrible man,” Chanyeol said, regretting the words the instance he spoke them. It was the sort of thoughtless thing he said when he was drunk even though he had barely drank anything. 

The damage was done as a sudden change overcame Kyungsoo’s expression. The sadness in his eyes were gone and Chanyeol found himself at the mercy of angered eyes-- and he felt thoroughly sorry as depicted by the deep heat that crept over his fair cheeks.

“And you’re _terribly_ bold, Mr. Park. Did you know him? How can you be so condescending?” 

“I apologise.” Chanyeol said quickly, “I didn’t mean to speak out like that.”

Chanyeol wasn’t sorry for saying the man was terrible for despite never being acquainted, he had no doubts that Zhang Yixing was a terrible man. He apologised more for the provocation of his calm companion. 

But it was Kyungsoo who appeared more affected. “I’m sorry, Mr. Park. I think I may have spoken out of line as well.” 

“You didn’t. I admit I was being very condescending.” 

“Oh good.” 

The boyishness returned as the corner of Kyungsoo’s lips angled in a way that Chanyeol found himself quickly suffering in the presence of its charm. It was a smile he hadn’t seen on anyone before and he had seen so many smiles from so many different types of people. Admirers. Critics. He would remember this smile forever, he was sure of it. The delicate details would be branded in his memory like a favourite adage he sought solace in during empty hours.

“I won’t do it again,” Chanyeol promised. 

His companion laughed as a response but his eyes glowed with tears again.

“You’re still upset,” Chanyeol said pointedly, adopting the tone of an old friend. The sort that one would meet in old bars like this one. “How come? Did you know him?”

There, Kyungsoo’s lips adhered together, locking the answer within himself, as he cocked his head to the side and searched Chanyeol’s eyes keenly. For a moment, the author swore he _saw_ the answer -- felt its phantom touch -- just from the other’s expression but Kyungsoo rightly broke the contact and beckoned for Chanyeol’s drink.

His head was bowed down as he began to firmly massage his throat as if something had become lodged in there.

“Are you alright?” Chanyeol asked, plain in his concern, as he offered his glass with no hesitation. 

The glass was drained in another quick single shot. It hit the counter with a sharp thud. Kyungsoo refused to meet Chanyeol’s eyes, sliding off his stool and mumbling a goodbye that would’ve seemed impolite to the author had he not been so concerned of unwittingly disrespecting the other man again.

“Are you alright?” The question was repeated as he noticed how Kyungsoo was shivering again. The smaller man dusted down his coat in a hurried manner looking thoroughly overwhelmed by panic. He spoke in flat stutters as if he had already left the bar and transported himself to where he needed to be. His goodbye became as resigned as tired fragments of a hasty phone message.

“Please... excuse me, Mr. Park. I... have some place to be.”

Kyungsoo slammed a set of notes on the counter before he departed with no fleeting backwards glance. 

Feeling sensibly jaded by the strangeness of the entire interaction, Chanyeol readied to leave just as hastily, recalling his meeting with Sehun and feeling foolish that he had overlooked it. However he would find himself quickly fixed into position by a single extraordinary sight in the most ordinary of things.

He paused and stared at his glass. And then he reached for it, stuck his ring finger inside and looked again. He pulled the fragment along the sides carefully and then admired it as it stuck vividly to the pale flesh of his finger.

A single tiny blue petal. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A week idly passed and the attention of the society crowds had shifted fully on to the next big occasion. This took the familiar shape of an engagement party for a young and happy couple. They were faceless to Chanyeol who had no comprehensive relationship with either, only an awareness of some mutual friends in their circles. However, they had requested vehemently for his attendance because they were such great admirers of his work. Whilst Chanyeol was perfectly validated to decline, it was fortunate that he had no plans elsewhere that evening and he was always partial to a little harmless dress-up. 

Chanyeol reached the venue, opting to arrive at a time whereby he was certain that the party was in full swing. With his large hands politely locked behind his back, the author walked into the large square room to a wall of ceaseless attention that melted into an ocean of adoring faces. The author did his best to greet everyone, feeling thoroughly in his habitat with the endless glasses of champagne and the scent of expensively refined tobacco. With the company, he resolved to entertain himself by joining a variety of circles, befriending the new and old, replenishing old anecdotes over and over as only artful storytellers could to the enormous delight of his listeners.

In the background, serving as the accompaniment to his tales, the complementary conversation between beautifully-played saxophone and a strings quartet.

“.... so I told him, if he doesn’t publish the novel as it was then I would walk.” 

Chanyeol was currently clustered in a circle with Junmyeon on his right, a literary critic on his left, and around them the leading cast of a recent theatre play whose director he had entertained in his European villa the previous year.

“And what did you say to him, Junmyeon?” encouraged a voice, as his agent laughed loudly, doing his best imitation of his client as he spoke. 

“I told him to walk in a straight line and the drunken bastard could barely take one step…” 

Junmyeon swayed his glass as he attempted to wobble like a drunkard on the spot. This was a crowd-pleaser.

As heads were pleasantly tossed back in amusement, a plane of vision was cleared and spanned the space, enabling Chanyeol’s roaming gaze to glide across the various figures arranged in the room. His gaze would fall, helpless in its attraction, to a familiar centerpiece.

A man dressed cleanly in a beige blazer, a white dress shirt, and dark navy trousers entered the room. His thick dark hair was slicked neatly and appeared faintly brown against the glaring chandelier light. He was looking around reservedly, prim enough not to suggest insecurity, with a tall young lady in emerald green clinging to his arm. 

“Excuse me,” Chanyeol greeted his guests hastily before moving through the room, as committed as he had been that day they had met at the bar.

Meeting the quiet Do Kyungsoo had barely vacated the front of Chanyeol’s thoughts since their conversation. He couldn’t believe his good fortunes that they would meet again so soon, although perhaps a part of him had privately hoped for this outcome. After all, his abrupt exit had been part of this fascination. Chanyeol desperately wanted to reassure the other that he didn’t think less of him for it. Maybe he could even gain an explanation for the surprising action. 

“Mr. Do, hello again.” Chanyeol greeted him with a pleasant tone, “How pleased I am to see you tonight.” He turned to the girl. She was sprightly. Certainly a relative for they shared the same face shape, “And we have not met before. I’m Park Chanyeol.”

Kyungsoo seemed pleasantly shocked. His companion even more so.

“Of course I know who you are. I’ve read all your novels!”

“Introduce yourself properly, Daehyun.” Kyungsoo corrected her calmly, gaze shyly lowered to a spot just below Chanyeol’s eyes.

“I’m Do Daehyun. Kyungsoo’s cousin. How do you do.” The girl gushed. She looked barely over sixteen. There was a crookedness in her posture and a likable modesty in the way that she held herself. Qualities that conveyed a youthful inelegance often lost in the older debutantes that Chanyeol acquainted himself with. 

“That’s kind of you. It’s a pleasure.” Chanyeol said.

“Hello Mr. Park. It’s nice to see you again.” 

Chanyeol turned to Kyungsoo and observed that the man was staring at him with the same pretty smile. It was prettier in the open light; the timidity of it only enlarging its charm to the author who hadn’t stopped thinking about it since that day. 

“We aren’t staying long. We are just here to greet the happy couple and give our well-wishes.” Kyungsoo explained as he placed a protective hand over his cousin’s arm who continued to fawn unashamedly at the author’s imposing presence.

“Well I can take you to them! I know exactly where they are.” Chanyeol offered, as he quickly completed the task, never giving the chance for the other man to decline. 

There was no denying how pairs of curious and silent eyes followed them as they maneuvered through the busy room. Chanyeol paid them no mind hoping his companions would do the same. 

Once they were able to find the newly-engaged couple, some interesting conversation was exchanged between them as Kyungsoo revealed that he had known the groom as a junior of his college.

“Back then, Kyungsoo’s voice was the glory of the school.” 

“You were a singer?” Chanyeol posed to Kyungsoo as if they had been the only two in the circle.

“I sang. There’s a difference,” was Kyungsoo’s modest rejoinder, as he laughed humbly along to the subsequent set of commentaries from the people around them. He didn’t say much, opting to listen, as his cousin consumed the scene with open-mouthed amazement like a young admirer at the stage door of a theatre.

Once the conversation reached a natural impasse, Kyungsoo excused himself almost as rashly as he had at the bar. But this time, he bid Chanyeol an acceptable and personal farewell. 

“Thank you, Mr. Park. We will be going now.”

“Already?” Chanyeol glanced at Kyungsoo’s cousin who was pouting her lips indignantly, as she hung on his arm, “But you haven’t even taken your cousin to dance. It’s an engagement party. Everyone who attends must commit to at least one waltz.” 

“I’m no dancer,” Kyungsoo said. 

“Then may I take her?” 

Daehyun looked shocked. Kyungsoo too. 

“....If your cousin wouldn’t oppose it,” continued Chanyeol, letting his eyes rest on the other man with a playful look, “then it would be my pleasure.” 

Kyungsoo smiled. Amused but defeated.

“Why in heavens would I oppose it. Go on, Daehyun. Please do your best.” 

The dance was slow but enjoyable with the well-conducted music. The girl was inexperienced but steady and certainly eager. A picture was taken by the party photographer and Chanyeol ensured with every turn to look handsome and attentive. He was aware of Kyungsoo watching from the corner of the room, a wine glass in his hand which was emptied by the time the song finished. 

Daehyun returned to her cousin, glowing and flushed with joy. Chanyeol didn’t speak to her at all during the dance, parting from quick hums to any passing retorts she had. But she flattered him by returning to the room like she had experienced something truly special. 

“Be polite and thank Mr. Park now,” Kyungsoo told the excitable girl as she flung her arms around her cousin fondly.

“Thank you Mr. Park. You are a lovely dancer,” she complimented him with rosy cheeks. 

Her kind words were acknowledged by the author with a smile as he then turned to her cousin. Chanyeol’s expression changed immediately. The idle disinterest now surpassed by a warmer feeling of anticipation that he internally hoped was mutual as he gestured towards the dance floor again.

“I would not be opposed to dancing again, if you’re interested.”

Presented with the offer, Kyungsoo laughed the same polite laugh he had overused in their conversation with the happy couple. It would have probably wounded Chanyeol had he not convinced himself that if they had been alone, had Daehyun not been present, then he would already be leading their second waltz. It was an image that teased his imagination to the point of madness and he couldn’t rid of it nor understand where it had come from.

“Kind as your offer is, we can’t possibly take up any more of your time.” Kyungsoo glanced at his young cousin, “She still has a curfew so we really must be going...” 

There was a clear _reluctance_ in Kyungsoo’s words; in his stance; that was the root of it. It was so obvious now and spinning Chanyeol into such a giddy state that he found himself declaring a prompt “Good night” before he had even wholly considered it. Not that he would have argued of course. But he would have enjoyed exchanging words a little more. If only to encourage the other man to expose a little more of his inner intentions and soothe any tender spots that he may have left in Chanyeol’s ego. 

“Good night then.” Kyungsoo smiled at him. The same smile.

Between the dance that never materialised, and the powerful smile that never ceased, Chanyeol’s poor heart was paralysed.

The pair disappeared quickly through the archway. Chanyeol grew still in his spot. At some point he faintly detected Junmyeon calling him from some fixed point in the distance but the voice was ghostly, and the rest of the figures bled into the same state of immortal grey, as the author suddenly moved towards the door at a quick and determined pace.

 

 

 

 

“Mr. Do!”

Kyungsoo stood in the lobby, thoughtfully folding his sun-yellow scarf into a loose knot. He turned to regard Chanyeol and the author inexcusably froze halfway down the steps as if he’d forgotten his purpose for calling him. He remained there, seeming every bit a fool, until Kyungsoo laughed warmly and broke the silence.

“Mr. Park. Did I forget something?” 

Chanyeol found his direction in Kyungsoo’s expression. It was so obvious that the man was urging him to speak, to anchor him to the lobby for a second longer, despite the cold winter wind blowing through the open door already pressing for his departure. 

“No,” Chanyeol answered, face relaxing, smile appearing, “I wish to invite you to a lunch at some point this week. Are you free?” 

Outside, came the timely cry from a freezing Daehyun that their car had come. Kyungsoo extended no awareness of the voice, attention completely on Chanyeol, as he responded with a single curious word.

“ _Why_?” 

The author laughed, reddening again. 

“If I admit that I find you interesting. Will you come?”

It was a compliment. The best that the author possessed. 

“Admit it then. I wish to hear it,” challenged Kyungsoo. 

Chanyeol laughed again feeling completely in surrender.

“You’re interesting.”

“ _Mr. Do._ ” 

“You’re interesting, Mr. Do.” 

Although Chanyeol was certain that so far, Do Kyungsoo had managed to conceal the effect that his characteristic persistence had on him, he didn’t seem so careful now as he smiled the familiar shy smile. The smile that could extinguish every other light in a full room. The smile Chanyeol had tucked away into his brain as one of his absolute favourites in the entire world. 

“I’m flattered,” Kyungsoo answered as he took a step towards the door, “But you are _the_ Park Chanyeol. It would probably be unlawful to decline an invitation from you.”

“You are right.”

Kyungsoo grinned at the speed of his wit, directing the smile right at him, as he placed a hand over his scarf and replied. 

“I’ll accept then.” 

Beneath Chanyeol’s chest, a familiar hum of excitement began to grow as the pair exchanged a wave of polite farewell. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Writers were best placed in groups, similar to packs of wild animals. It was a matter of creative survival in some cases, for it was easy for those who dreamed for a living to lose themselves in their sensational imaginations. And only other writers, who suffered the same daily pains, would know how to find them again. 

Chanyeol felt this in his heart sincerely. His most trusted band of brothers was a small one comprised of Oh Sehun, the son of the city’s most revered public defender and a promising political columnist, Kim Junmyeon his agent and a writer himself, and the loveable Kim Jongin. 

They met once a week in Chanyeol’s uptown apartment. Their territory was Chanyeol’s large study, reserved primarily for his writing. The men would turn up, their personal work tucked beneath their arms, cigarette between their lips, and in their free hand a bottle of wine or fresh buttery bread from a nearby patisserie. Chanyeol had long become used to hosting them and even had spare typewriters set out for their use as well as warnings for the residential staff not to disturb them. The only exception being for fires or emergencies of a similar capacity.

The study itself resembled the study back in Chanyeol’s family home. The author had insisted on decorating the place to simulate the room he had frequented the most when he was growing up. His memories of the study had long developed into something _holy_ ; he had even convinced himself that it had served as the incubator from where all his creative prowess developed. It was definitely the space where he had drafted his inaugural poems: a short collection of rigid and unimaginative observations of the Park Family grounds in the style of William Wordsworth, his Grandfather’s favourite poet. 

Even now, when he glanced at the same rug on the floor -- the only remnant of the study he had been permitted to take with him -- Chanyeol couldn’t help but see the image of the same spotty teenager with a notebook on his lap, chewing a pen with his teeth, as he glared at a poetry book across him as if expecting it to cough out magic and animate his listless prose into something extraordinary.

Only three out of the four members of this pack would be present this week as Jongin had recently been allured by offers of the big screen. This meant that he had been away from them filming in a lovely seaside resort for three months. 

“I miss Jongin,” lamented Sehun, as he stretched his arms and then his body across the long maroon chesterfield sofa, “I miss all the strange things he says when it’s quiet like this.”

“What things? By now he would be completely asleep on that sofa.” Junmyeon said in the same cool tone which prompted the other men to look at each other and laugh.

“What are you doing there Chanyeol?” Sehun rolled onto his stomach, flinging the newspaper he had been studying onto the floor, “Are you dusting?” 

Chanyeol was positioned behind his desk - suspended between a standing position and a squat as he pulled box after box from beneath his desk from where he had been storing all of the research he had conducted for his previous novel. 

“I’m looking for something.” His head poked up from behind the neat arrangement of cardboard boxes, “Why? Is it that dusty already?”

“It’s always dusty.” Sehun responded, “What is it that you’re looking for?” 

“It’s a secret.”

The other man scoffed. “Tease. Does it have something to do with Do Kyungsoo?” 

Chanyeol’s head resurfaced, almost jerking from renewed interest.

“Why do you ask?”

“Junmyeon,” Sehun waved a hand in their friend’s direction who maintained his focus, thoroughly nestled into the writing process as he typed furiously on the floor, “He may have mentioned that you interacted with him at The Quintons’ engagement. He said it was strange of you.”

Accustomed to Junmyeon’s routine intrusions, and his propensity for gossip, Chanyeol shrugged the comment off. This led quickly to an interest in querying the subject of Do Kyungsoo with his friends. 

Sehun was a perfect candidate for these types of things. He was the most well-connected out of all his young friends, with an esteemed official of every profession in his contact book, and he was also not the sort to fabricate people’s characteristics. Regardless of identity, Sehun looked at everything and everyone from a scholarly distance. Like an astronomer determined to make the most accurate classifications. 

“What do you know of him?” Chanyeol asked.

“Very little. I vaguely know one of his sisters. She was my sister’s classmate. The Do family, correct me if I’m wrong, are prominent players in mining, was it?” 

“Shipping.” Junmyeon corrected.

“Shipping.” Sehun echoed as he continued, “I don’t believe he lives around here.” 

There was a frost in his tone which amused Chanyeol.

“Does that irritate you, Sehun?” Chanyeol prodded him, almost cooing, as he winked at Junmyeon who had looked up from his typewriter in amusement, “Mr. Do not being a resident of the West Square?” 

The West Square referred to the epicenter of their entire world. It was where everyone worked, lived, dined, studied and shopped. It was even home to the cathedral and included the courthouse which meant that people also frequently married and divorced there. Unsurprisingly, it also boasted the highest property and living prices which painted it as the most exclusive neighbourhood in the wider region. Chanyeol’s family owned a considerable share of the land on the West Square which was testament to his wealth. 

“Stop it. I know what you’re trying to do.” Sehun frowned.

“What?” His two friends echoed.

“You are trying to make me out as some snob. I am not a snob. I just find it curious that’s all. He has family in the West Square. Why does Mr. Do insist on living _outside_?” 

The extended drawl on the final world dripped with so much arrogance that Chanyeol found himself wiping tears from his eyes after laughing healthily with Junmyeon who had clutched his cushion to his chest to stifle the sounds. Sehun shielded his face with his hands as he groaned, rolling to his side and muffling a sigh against the sofa fabric. 

“Be quiet. This is why I miss Jongin. You two bully me.” 

“We’ll see him soon. It’s his film premier next week.” Junmyeon reassured him before gesturing to the ceiling with a hand, “I promise to pray for a quiet week in the Presidential palace for you, Sehun. So we can make sure you can come.” 

“Thank you.” Sehun said with a laugh.

Behind the desk, Chanyeol was smiling as he removed the lids of boxes and vaguely registered the contents of each compartment. He eventually found what he was seeking in the box that he had rightly left in the middle. It was the research he had conducted for his best-selling novel, _A Tender Love_ , before it became what it was. At the time, he had contemplated all the various faces of love he could explore and one of them had been the concept of setting his story to fixate on the tribulations of _one-sided_ love. 

“You’ll come won’t you, Chanyeol?” 

Chanyeol looked up to address Sehun’s voice. In his hand, he grasped a pad of white paper which had been preserved in a transparent plastic wallet. 

“You _must_ come,” Sehun continued as he sat up in his chair and stretched his arms, resembling a house cat, “People are awaiting your next book and you need to meet lots of people and fall in love quickly if you are to be inspired again.”

“You’re shameless.” Chanyeol said with a frown, beckoning him over with his free hand, “Come here and let me teach you a lesson.”

“I’m only telling the truth,” Sehun mused, “You struggled with _A Tender Love_. Don’t you remember? You are jaded by romance. You need something new and complex to capture you. You need someone to hold onto your heart and squeeze it until the words cascade out of you.” 

Chanyeol clutched his chest dramatically, stuttering forwards as if hit by an arrow. He dangled forwards unsteadily before straightening up in his usual form and laughing. 

“Please, if you find anyone that can do that for me. Send them my way.” 

Sehun watched him, expression unflinchingly assured and severe as if he’d concluded something from the display. Instead of sharing it, the young man spoke with the same deliberately wounding tone. 

“How can I? You remain so averse to love, Chanyeol.” 

“That’s a lie.” 

Chanyeol removed the papers from inside the plastic pocket and flicked quickly to the page of interest. He remembered it for it had been such a unique element of his research even though it was barely investigated.

“...I want to love.” The author responded, lips broadening into a smile as he identified what he he had been looking for, settled there in the center of the page, “It’s love that remains averse to me.” 

He planted a finger on the unfamiliar words on the page, a beat of anticipation hoisting the rhythm in his thoughts as he read it numerous times in his head like a maxim that he would never forget.

 

 _Hanahaki Disease →  
a chronic and progressive disease that originates from the onset and perpetuation of an unrequited love_. 

 

“Then let me set you up. Are you free tomorrow? Tomorrow lunchtime?” Sehun inquired as Chanyeol quickly began to tidy the boxes away, keen to return his desk to its pristine organised state.

“I can’t. I already have a lunch guest.”

“Who?” Sehun demanded, mouth agape with interest.

“It’s a secret!” sung Chanyeol as he walked out of the drawing room with the single box in his arms.

“Is it Do Kyungsoo?” Sehun pressed, “What is it with you and him? Auntie will never approve! She has half of the West Square on a watch because she is _convinced_ you will settle down within the first quarter of next year!”

No answer came from beyond the doorway. Sehun clamped his lips together, rolling dark youthful eyes before turning to Junmyeon in dramatised despair.

“I won’t go to his wedding if he doesn’t marry within the Square.”

“Sehun.” Junmyeon snapped, looking up from his typewriter, “That’s too far.”

“I’m joking.” Sehun sighed, long dark lashes fluttering in thought, “He does seem infatuated though.”

“What do I seem?” Chanyeol asked as he strolled back in, still in a pleasant mood.

“Infatuated. That means _intensely passionate_ in case you forgot with your brain being so muddled.”

The author walked across and collapsed into the same large couch, purposefully rolling over Sehun who groaned as he playfully evaded the other’s sinewy limbs by sliding away to the other side. 

“Stop being a snob, Oh Sehun,” teased Chanyeol as he rested his back against the arch of the couch and glanced bemusedly at the other. 

“Stop being infatuated and fall in love for once,” Sehun snapped back in a more serious tone as he gazed at his friend, “Fall in love, Park Chanyeol. Fall in love with whomever you want and you will write the best piece of your life, I am sure of it.”

“Will it sell?” Chanyeol said coyly as he waggled his fingers jokingly over Sehun’s head, imitating a fortune teller’s crystal ball, “Tell me, oh mighty spirits!”

Sehun shoved him away with a hard grunt and the pair of men across him were left with no choice but to laugh again. 

Once the room settled and his companions returned to their work, Chanyeol considered the contents of the afternoon’s discussion with private amusement. Although he had thrown Sehun’s words back at him, he never once contested them because he fully agreed with him. For writing using primarily one’s aptitude— one’s brain and natural skill— was one thing, but to share a story from the _heart_.

There was no doubt in Chanyeol’s mind that he could sell millions. Not that money had ever possessed any allure for him. Money was as harmless as air to the truly privileged. 

It was _love_ that haunted him, impeded him, _agonised_ him and continued to be the enduring object of his desires and inspiration. 

 

-


	2. A Moonlight Serenade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: new past x side ship tags please read before you proceed to get invested ahahahaha TT longer a/n at the end—
> 
> i’d like to warn that this chapter is very, VERY, long but i liked writing it so much ahh c: enjoy! thank you for reading

-
    
    
    **TELEGRAM RECEIVED at:
    
              612 BLOOMING DAY APT, WSQUARE, 12-4-1958
                              MR. PARK CHANYEOL,**
    
          Caught winter bug and can't attend our lunch
           Let’s meet another time
           Truly sorry.
                               **MR. DO KYUNGSOO**
    

-

The prospect of a promptly cancelled luncheon was not new to Chanyeol. However reading the telegram struck the author with such a generous lash of disappointment that he became resolute on not dining alone.

Junmyeon was away so the responsibility to appease the author fell on the young Sehun who had been happy to escape the monotony of his morning meetings. As perceptive as always, Sehun took the lead of their exchange with delight, filling the tense air between them with unassertive anecdotes as they made their way through the lunch table of hot soup, crisp Italian bread, and bounteous bowls of the house salad. 

There was no relieving Chanyeol when he was in one of his moods but he still found himself competently distracted by Sehun and his refreshing and lively stories. 

The young journalist, dressed in casual camel colours and gazing through round eyeglasses with tortoise shell patterned frames, grinned at his friend from across the table as he drove through his set of column-ready tales. 

Some did cheer Chanyeol up in some way - particularly one tale that involved a broken heel at a party soiree leading to a _manhunt almost equal to when Mama loses a hairclip_ \- but the pressure on his heart remained and it held him tautly through most of the conversation in a dominant grip. 

“Cheer up, cherub,” Sehun finally reached across the table, linking their fingers loosely together and taking Chanyeol’s dreary eyes with him, “If you stay silent a second longer, I’ll suspect that I’m boring you. This is why I never see you two days in a row. You get sick of me easily.” 

Chanyeol expressed a light smile as he squeezed their fingers in a show of affection. “You’re joking aren’t you? I’d see you every day if I could.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong.” His friend mused, bottom lip bulging into a childish pout, “This can’t all be because of Do Kyungsoo. _Surely_.”

But it was. Simply hearing his name triggered the weight in Chanyeol’s heart to grow. 

“I think he’s avoiding me. I don’t _like_ it.” 

“Maybe he really does have a winter bug.” Sehun referred to the telegram that Chanyeol had hesitantly showed him at the start of the conversation. “Stop moping and send him a box of ginger tea. You can meet another time. The world is hardly ending.”

Sehun’s words, his _wit_ and way of expression, had a notable bite to them -- which aside from establishing notoriety for his political columns, had always been familiarly used when he wanted to scold his close friends, without fully unleashing the full wrath of his honest sentiment on them. Chanyeol knew he was being subjected to it, as he often was, and laughed as he squeezed their fingers together again to convey his understanding. _Alright, I’ll stop for you._

“Perhaps you can meet on... Wednesday? I have to be at the courts again. I won’t invite you since you enjoyed it so little the last time.” Sehun suggested.

“The courtroom?” Chanyeol asked in a soft voice.

“Yes,” affirmed Sehun lazily, as he gazed out of the window, assessing the passing figures like they were mannequins in a boutique, “The greaser case. Mr. Zhang with the motorbike and ties to the Eastern triads. The second court appearance has been scheduled for then. Pop is unbelievably busy with it. He barely comes home. Mama is beside herself with worry which means she is constantly on the phone to me…” 

Between the thick fog of his upset, a sudden clearing emerged, vivid enough to render Chanyeol’s previous grievances with Mr. Do totally obsolete.

“Wednesday.” The brand of the day flourished with opportunity. After all the thinking Chanyeol had devoted into Do Kyungsoo and the extraordinary effects their brief interactions had printed on him, Wednesday quickly became equated to a _holy_ day. There was no doubt in Chanyeol’s mind that they would run into each other there again. Unless of course he truly had the winter flu; in which case another box of tea would certainly be delivered his way. 

But there was more to all of this than that and Chanyeol knew it. All he had in his hands so far were the crumbs of something much larger. He was a sensitive man, a patient man, but most of all he was a _curious_ man and when he sought something, he did so with the steel nerve of an inquisitor.

For days now, all he could think about was that day. The day he glimpsed Do Kyungsoo crying at the steps of the courtroom. A moment as extraordinary as that could never be fully transcribed by anyone other than the person who experienced it. Yet even as an author, Chanyeol had struggled to convey how the events from that day had altered him. In fact, he had attempted it unsuccessfully in a journal entry that same evening: 

 

_‘… It was like I had witnessed something that the divine had intended for my eyes only. There was enough there for my eyes, my ears, my heart even! But it was him; only him. He was all that I saw….’_

 

 

It was obnoxious; but for him it stood true.

“Maybe I will.” Chanyeol spoke in a whisper as he regarded his food with noticeably more appetite, “I’ll see him on Wednesday, possibly.”

“I’ve cheered you up, haven’t I?” Sehun said with delight, “Amazing! Make sure to tell Junmyeon. He always accuses me of being negative.” 

Surprising his companion, Sehun then rose from his chair and moved around the table, planting an arm on Chanyeol’s shoulder who roused fully from his deep thoughts, “I have to get back to work now. I can’t be late again or I’ll be stuck with telegram duties. I may call you later. Let me know if you want to have a dinner companion.”

“Alright. Bye-bye, love.” Chanyeol patted his hand softly, smiling, “Thank you.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The hours to Wednesday flew with ease.

The sensitivity and unusual popularity that surrounded the Zhang criminal case meant that the court officials had to maneuver around a fresh set of problems that would have been absent - had the matter not proven so interesting to the city masses. The heavy press presence was particularly regulated. But from a singular audit, it was clear that many media personnel in plain clothes had shamelessly snuck into the public viewing gallery, keen to catch the freshest scoop on the proceedings that had captured their readers’ imaginations. 

Chanyeol learned his lesson and arrived early. He positioned himself inconspicuously at the viewing box that hovered over the gallery. He reasoned that Kyungsoo, should he appear, would purposely remain outside of the courtroom. 

His appraisal paid off. 

Kyungsoo arrived at the approximate time that the crowd in the box was forming considerably. He was dressed modestly in a long brown overcoat and a matching wide-brimmed fedora which he kept close to his chest. He shuffled forwards calmly, blending with the rest, seeming almost like a journalist himself as he stood suspiciously still as if to conceal something tucked inside his outerwear like a camera or recorder.

His expression was thoroughly engrossed by the courtroom. He certainly wouldn’t have seen Chanyeol had the taller man placed himself even more plainly. Away from him at a distance whereby he wouldn’t be afforded exposure to the other, Chanyeol felt himself finally grasp the reality of his actions and he grew instantly frightened. Was all of this worth the acquisition of _it_? The mysterious _it_ referring to the answer he so desperately wanted to discover, even if the question itself hadn’t fully formed in his thoughts. 

After a moment’s debate, Chanyeol found his doubts extinguishing against his inclination to cause. If he was rejected then so be it. But until then he would try his luck. 

The room grew quiet as the courtroom proceedings commenced. 

Chanyeol bowed his head to the floor as he listened intently to the start. It was challenging to interpret the voices from his position especially when it was full of legal jargon. So he listened less, and after a few minutes, even less than that.

With time, his attention would surrender and wander fully, as an author’s mind often did. His focus danced around his wispy thoughts like a child in a field, occasionally plucking out something of interest, but otherwise continuing on a cheerful spin under an endless sun. Occasionally, someone would pass and bewilder Chanyeol with the very real sounds of shoes against marble or coughs and sniffling, but then he would ascend again, dreamy and content. 

_”Guilty!”_

“Guilty?” 

The word was repeated three more times as the crowd burst into life startling the daydreaming man. He looked around, mirroring the panic on their faces, as within their disjointed rambles, he determined the story. Zhang Yixing, to everyone’s surprise, had pleaded _guilty_ to the charges aside from the ones associated with murder. Sentencing was to be scheduled for another date. 

The people responded so sensationally that Chanyeol’s attention naturally followed them, growing through the outburst of energy, until his eyes recognised a figure emerging from the mass.

The man in black walked away from the pack in a brisk pace, eerily similar to how he had departed the last time. Chanyeol followed him in exactly the same way, leaving the airs of the courtroom behind like a dream scene bleeding into the next. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grey clouds surveyed the two fast-moving spots darting across the long pavement. Chanyeol raised his jacket collar to protect his neck against the teasing of the winter breeze as he watched Kyungsoo place his hat on his head for the same reason. Pursuing at Kyungsoo’s pace, Chanyeol’s surroundings were passing him by at an eerie speed. He almost felt like he was the frozen one and it was the world around him speeding by resembling the rolling stills of a film reel. 

Where was Kyungsoo taking him? 

They were passing increasingly familiar streets and entering far more obscure ones. Pigeons were scampering into flight just to move out their way. From afar, it probably seemed like Chanyeol was a plain-clothed cop chasing a criminal, but it was more akin to Kyungsoo dragging him through the city, powerless, along an invisible rope that connected them in a shaky line. The mystery added to his anticipation although he felt increasingly less confidence in his actions. 

The pace changed when they entered a park. It was the nearest green space to the courtroom and Kyungsoo descended through a short entryway to pass the canal. A short bridge crafted of stone was poised over it. Without the sun or the white blossoms that embodied spring, the bridge was a tired looking winter ornament, appearing lonesome and crumbling in the distance. 

It was there, beneath the shade of the bridge that Kyungsoo finally paused.

“Why are you here?”

When he turned to regard him, Chanyeol was met with the sight of Kyungsoo holding a white handkerchief securely to his lips. The smaller man’s eyes were momentarily awestruck before he bowed his head and _coughed_. The gesture was unmistakably violent, his body folding in half as his other hand slid to cross his stomach and support his upper half. But the sound he emitted was far quieter and neglected to reflect the pain which showed on his features. 

Chanyeol was mortified. In his quiet struggle, he approached the man with a wary appreciation of the space between as he extended him a handkerchief. 

“Please… please take it, Mr. Do.” 

Kyungsoo’s head remained bowed to the canal bank which had grown into an unsightly wasteland for bird waste and untamed dead grasses. When he looked up and took Chanyeol’s offer, his eyes shone with tears. They appeared like dark crystal pools against the pallor of his complexion.

“I brought you a drink also.” Chanyeol reached for the silver whiskey flask inside his deep coat pocket. “It’s a lemon tonic. I take it when I have the winter bug.” He extended this in the same manner until it was taken with quivering hands.

His companion gulped the drink down quickly to his relief. 

When Chanyeol saw Kyungsoo’s face again, as he reached across to return the flask, the tears which his eyes had displayed had slid down to mark his skin. Without the handkerchief, Kyungsoo’s large lips appeared swollen with an artificial redness. Against the charming and bright Kyungsoo that Chanyeol saw in his memories only days ago, this man was a heartbreaking comparison. 

“Thank you.” 

Kyungsoo’s voice was void of anything cold or resentful. His expression remained fixed into one of private thought as he met Chanyeol’s eyes. The author consciously turned away in shame. In truth, he did this because he also wanted to determine his own feelings. His face was an open book; the last thing he wanted was to give away a wrongful impression of how sorry he felt.

“It’s okay.” Kyungsoo spoke again with a tone that was inviting enough that Chanyeol braved his doubts and looked at him. “I just want to know why you followed me.”

“You said you were unwell,” Chanyeol replied hastily, as he added a cautious, “and you are. But not with the winter bug.” 

There was a shift in Kyungsoo’s expression. Nothing prominent enough to quell the urgency of Chanyeol’s questioning. 

“You’re right.” Kyungsoo nodded, stunning the author who certainly hadn’t expected his query to be addressed so openly.

So he plucked up and braved even more.

“You have it, don’t you?” The author’s eyes shut for a moment as he let the words tingle at the tip of his tongue, disliking the way it coiled his lips as he said it, “Hanahaki Disease.”

“How did you know?”

Chanyeol kept his eyes shut, missing Kyungsoo’s immediate reaction. He wondered if he had looked surprised or relieved. The man’s unmoved tone of voice wasn’t easy to assess. Unlike his own which was already shaky with dismay.

“I’ve seen you enough times to recognise the symptoms.” Chanyeol answered as he opened his eyes, the grey scene across him flooding his heart with heavy emotion, “I read about it as part of my research for my recent book.” 

His right hand consciously lifted to his chest. Beneath his fingers, inside his left breast pocket, was a neatly folded pocketbook containing the notes he had about the disease. It was a tiny chunk of knowledge he had accumulated from a short trip to the city’s medical library. 

Unsurprisingly, they had very little on the subject and he had commissioned them to locate as many books as they could on it as soon as possible.

  
-
    
    
          **Hanahaki Disease**
    → a rare chronic and progressive DISEASE that originates from the onset and perpetuation of an UNREQUITED LOVE
    → symptoms include coughing or vomiting of flower petals and with increasing disease progression, other flower parts or entire flowers
    → There is a HIGH MORTALITY rate associated with this disease with many succumbing to severe respiratory and pharyngeal damage which can lead to asphyxiation, hypoxia and DEATH
    → The first case of this disease was reported as early as the 15th century… . 
    

-

The cold wind whimpered through the bridge creating a hollow noise with the grasses. Chanyeol gathered his shoulders together, fingers locking, as he eyed Kyungsoo who stared back in silence. Out in the open like this, it was impossible to study the situation with emotional accuracy. Chanyeol didn’t know if his words would wound or reassure so he felt more emboldened to say them. If he missed, then he missed. But if he never said them, then he may never again get the chance to. 

“I’ve seen you at the courtroom twice now.” Chanyeol began, voice unsteady with discomfort, “Were you and him… lovers?” 

There was no doubting the effect of his words now. Kyungsoo exhaled deeply, emitting a startled sound that sounded close to a laugh. His eyes lifted to regard the sky, away from Chanyeol’s focus, but despite all of this no denial of the matter followed. Instead he questioned the author back with a tone that was finally telling of something other than a passionless acceptance.

“What do you get out of interrogating me, Mr. Park?” His thick eyebrows had drawn together, a blush of color returning to his cheeks, “Please let me know. What can I give you?” 

“I want to understand you and your situation.” Chanyeol admitted, “That’s all I want.” 

“Your condescension knows no limits, does it? What for? A book I guess?” Kyungsoo said boldly, voice expanding with his tone, “I don’t want to be your next best seller, Mr. Park. There are plenty of others out there who would gladly have this honour but not me.” 

“It’s not like that!” Chanyeol defended.

“Then explain clearly what you want!” Kyungsoo’s face blushed a stark red, the reaction of someone whose rarely touched by anger, “I want to be patient with you but I can’t unless I _understand!_ ”

“I am a writer of love stories, Mr. Do.” There were frustrated tears in Chanyeol’s eyes although he wasn’t certain who had put them there. He continued, locking the other’s gaze with his in the hopes of conveying his meaning, “.... I write them so well I could write one here for you in the dirt right now. I have written so many that I don’t know if I can write anything else. But the love I write is equal to an epic _romance_. It’s not love. I want to understand it better so I pursued you because I know that you are certainly in love. There is no dishonesty within you. Everything your heart feels is what I’ve aspired to understand all my life but I’ve never believed until… I saw the blue petal.” 

The author’s emotions overcame him as he paused to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. The material was course against his skin. From the distance, he knew that Kyungsoo was watching him closely. 

“Mr. Park,” began Kyungsoo as he turned to face the canal and pocketed his hands, “This love is not what your readers would want to read about. There is no story for you here.”

“But there’s a heart that is hurting,” Chanyeol mumbled, sounding helpless, “I don’t want another _story_. I want the truths. And all I ask is for one afternoon of your time. What you share with me is up to you.”

His offer was met with laughter. The sound was jittery and dry.

“Did you really come all this way just for this? To offer me another meeting?” Kyungsoo asked, shaking his head, “I wonder if other writers work twice as hard-- and look, look you’re crying. And I have your handkerchief. What a mess. Mr. Park. Why are you crying? Stop. Please. I didn’t intend to upset you…” 

Chanyeol couldn’t stop himself from crying as his inhibitions caved to the will of his heart. The endless trains of thoughts that had always comforted him had vanished - providing no relief as he continued to feel fully anchored to the sorrows of the present.

“I didn’t want it to be true,” he managed, “I desperately prayed I would be mistaken.”

“About what?” Kyungsoo asked gently.

“The _disease_ ,” Chanyeol revealed, knowing that this understanding, more than anything, had proven too much for his empathies to bear, “Knowing that someone could really endure such hardship breaks me…” 

“Mr. Park,” Kyungsoo laughed, his voice tender, as he came towards him slowly, “We don’t know each other well enough for you to care so much.” 

“I agree,” Chanyeol laughed in return, knowing full well that he was being foolish, “You must excuse me. My heart is even larger than my mouth. It thinks for me too. I don’t normally cry like this.”

“I’ve never heard of such a hardworking heart. And there’s nothing wrong with crying.” The smile that Kyungsoo showed was so comforting to Chanyeol that it quickly silenced him.

The taller man composed himself shortly after, choosing to wipe his damp palms against his jacket and drive his long fingers through his thick dark hair, which had been at the mercy of the winds since the exchange began.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Kyungsoo inquired.

The man’s eyes were so indescribably warm that it eased much of the stifling grey which had encased Chanyeol’s thoughts. At this point, with Kyungsoo’s obvious concern, it almost seemed like Chanyeol was the aggrieved one. The one that was suffering. 

“I am.” Chanyeol said, “I am so sorry for all of this.”

“Don’t be.” Kyungsoo expressed a nod, “I understand now.” 

“I never wanted to inconvenience you this way.”

“It’s my fault. For not coming to lunch,” Kyungsoo murmured quietly, casting the matter off with a single wave of the hand as he murmured, “I’d like to read one of your novels one day, Mr. Park. Maybe I’ll come to understand you better and the stories that you wish to tell. But for now, I think we should part ways.” 

“Of course.” Chanyeol said unable to hide the relief that the suggestion brought to his bewildered feelings.

“Goodbye then.” Kyungsoo said politely as he bowed his head slightly before walking ahead to the north of the canal - away from the author and the West Square.

 

 

 

 

The afternoon took a toll on Chanyeol. After choosing to recover his wits at an afternoon tea-room alone, Chanyeol returned home and arranged for a new hardback copy of _A Tender Love_ to be delivered immediately to Kyungsoo’s residence. Running his hand over the glossy cover that depicted a painted woodland, Chanyeol tucked a small square card inside which contained a short note comprising of a sincere apology.

 

_  
Mr. Do,  
I send this to you as a token of peace and would like to apologise again.  
Thank you for being so understanding.  
I wish you a good day --   
_

 

He stamped the note personally before sending it off on its way through his driver. 

Despite the connotations of this gesture, Chanyeol had not expected to hear back from Kyungsoo again. He had sent his book off as a self-effacing sign of farewell; for he felt like he had mismanaged the entire ordeal to the point of no return. 

Still there was no doubting the burden of his disappointment. It drifted over his actions like a thick haze, inducing him with apathy, and making the simple chores of his day seem confusing and heavy. It wouldn’t take long for him to succumb to it completely and he did so by collapsing into his bed earlier than he had for years, feeling thoroughly worn out. 

It was during the crux of his surrender that he would receive the surprising call on his telephone. 

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (19:35)**
    
    
    
           **MR. PARK**
                 Mr. Do? Good evening. 
               This is Park Chanyeol speaking. 
    
    
    
               **MR. DO**
            Good evening Mr. Park.
           I hope my call didn’t catch you at a bad time. 
    
    
           **MR. PARK**
             [ _laughs_ ]  N-no! Not at all! 
              I was surprised that’s all. 
              I was…  boring myself actually. 
              I was hoping for the company.
    
    
                       **MR. DO**
                 Oh… good. I won’t keep you. 
               I just thought you would like to know
                that I am a quarter of the way 
               through the novel you sent me.
    
    
                 **MR. PARK**
              A quarter already? Wow. You’re fast! 
                I hope that’s a good thing. 
               Tell me everything. 
                Are you enjoying yourself? Is it dry? 
                 I promise that I am steely 
                 in the face of criticism. 
    
    
           **MR. DO**
              Are you really?
    
    
            **MR. PARK**
            No I am incredibly delicate actually.
             Like a baby.
    
    
              **MR. DO**
            [ _laughs_ ] 
          Well I’m sure it would please you to know
            that I’m enjoying myself.
         _A Tender Love_ is very good. I like it a lot.
    
    
              **MR. PARK**
             Really? Wow. I’m so glad. 
             Truly. What do you like about it? 
    
    
             **MR. DO**
              Well. I’m not finished yet so
              I can’t give a thorough answer. 
              But your prose is absorbing 
              and it flows well. 
    
    
             **MR. PARK**
           I see… [ _laughs_ ]. 
           Are you sure you’re not just 
           reading a recent _Times_ review?
    
    
        **MR. DO**
          [ _laughs_ ] No, I’ve read it! 
         And I do like it. I do. It’s just… 
    
    
        **MR. PARK**
            What?
    
    
        **MR. DO**
         Your protagonists. 
         They’re--
    
    
           **MR. PARK**
               Cool?
     
    
       **MR. DO**
              Naive.
    
    
       **MR. PARK**
            Naive?
    
    
        **MR. DO**
             Naive. 
    
    
         **MR. PARK**
           Oh.
    
    
                **MR. DO**
            No! Don’t be insulted Mr. Park. 
             They’re still very pleasing to read.... 
             I also have in my other hand a copy of 
              _The City Gazette_ 
             in which you and your story are featured. 
               I read it just now too.
    
    
             **MR. PARK**
            Uh-oh. Should I worry?
    
    
           **MR. DO**
          [ _laughs_ ] Not at all. 
           They portrayed you well. 
           Particularly your character. 
           Your motivations. 
            I was…  moved about what you said about 
            the power of the written word. 
             How it changed your life. 
              How it changed many others. 
             You said you wrote love stories because 
               you believed… 
     _‘...that love was
                 a universal force of healing…’_
    
    
             **MR. PARK**
            I meant every word.
    
    
              **MR. DO**
             _‘There are so many broken people 
                  in the world..’_
    
    
            **MR. PARK**
            _… I hope my stories will bring
                comfort to their hearts.’_ 
    
      
            **MR. DO**
            Do you mean it? 
    
    
             **MR. PARK**
              I wrote my first poem 
             to comfort my grandfather 
             after my grandmother passed away. 
             It’s how I’ve always been. 
              That will never change.
    
    
                **MR. DO**
            Then... I’ll agree to it.
             I’ll agree to help you.
    
    
    
                **MR. PARK**
            W...What? You will? 
           Why-- 
            I don’t know what to say…  
    
    
             **MR. DO**
         Let’s meet and talk about it then. 
       Are you available any time tomorrow?
    
    
            **MR. PARK**
         Come by any time. I’ll be waiting.
    
    
            **MR. DO**
         Alright. Good night then.
          I’ll see you tomorrow.
    
    
               **MR. PARK**
          Good… goodnight! Mr. Do! See you. 
    
    
    
    
    
      **OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED YOUR CALL
               (19:50)**
    

-

 

 

The meeting occurred at 11am the next morning. In his desire to atone for his previous misdemeanours, Chanyeol committed his full attention to reading his guest and his behaviours. It was a challenging task for the author who was far used to being the one _entertained_ as opposed to entertaining, but Kyungsoo acted as humbly as Chanyeol had come to expect and appeared comfortable with all of his effort.

For the first quarter of the hour, they exchanged a light conversation that enabled Chanyeol to prepare his refreshments whilst still gratifying his guest and his inquiries. Much of Kyungsoo’s questions were centered around the study: he complimented its simple decorations, inquired about the unique looking rug, and even delivered a joke about the noticeable presence of Hemingway in Chanyeol’s library. 

“His writing style spars with yours entirely,” Kyungsoo murmured with an amused tone, “Are you sure you’re not being ironic?” 

“Never.” Chanyeol said as he occupied the couch across Kyungsoo and comfortably crossed a leg over the other, “These men and women raised me,” he threw his hands around to gesture to the copious volumes of books which surrounded them in a protective square, “I grew up with them… and I keep them here because I continue to grow up alongside them.”

“I like that.” Kyungsoo said as he smiled.

Chanyeol watched Kyungsoo from his close distance unable to believe that he was the same broken man he had seen only a day ago. The colour and light in his expressions had fully recovered and he was completely free of the strain which had bound him to misery at the courts. 

He was as compelling to observe as he had been the first time; from the mysterious depth of his thinking expression to the feminine gentleness behind his smiles and small gestures. To have him here, so healthy and pleased, did wonders to lift the author’s guilty heart.

Although considering the real purpose of their afternoon, Chanyeol wasn’t sure how much longer it would all last.

“So, let’s start then.” Kyungsoo broke the silence confidently, sitting up like a schoolboy responding to the bell, as he began, “The first thing I’d like to clarify to you is that although I am a Do by name, I’m not a Do by blood. I was taken into the family after my mother married my step father…. don’t get me wrong. I am very close with some of the Do family especially my siblings but things changed when my mother died four years ago and my stepfather remained stationed in the East for business…”

“Oh. I’m so sorry about your loss.” 

“Don’t be.” Kyungsoo said.

 

 

 

The story that followed resembled the nuclear structure that comprised all stories: a beginning, a middle and end. It opened with the sudden death of a parent and the prejudice of a family bringing a young and heartbroken protagonist to the unforgivingly cold streets of an unfamiliar capital. 

‘ _I ran away. Children often think about it in a romantic way because of the way we read it in books. I admit I never thought about it until then. When I got here I became just another lost boy seeking a home. I was probably half-mad from hunger when I came across the advertisement for bar singers. I begged for a position and joined to take over the late evening slots._ ’

The prelude went on to describe Kyungsoo’s unsatisfying job as a bar singer in the seedy part of town. Singing— a passion reared from years of training— brought him shelter and income but most importantly an enduring sense of purpose. Without the comforts of his privileged upbringing, he realised that life could be lived simply if one committed to do so. He strived for it. And it was around that time, when the turmoil inside of him was finally resolving, that the opening of his story would end as he met Zhang Yixing on a snowy evening.

_‘He saw me once every week because he went there with his friends. He purposefully applauded louder than everyone else. I refused to acknowledge him until I realised he was coming to see me on a nightly basis. He gave me flowers one night. I thanked him and made a joke about the fact that I couldn’t eat flowers. After that, he brought me dinner. No matter how late the hour. He brought me so much food. We became friends after that. More, soon after.’_

The middle of the story spoke of the blossoming lovers. Kyungsoo kept it brief and vague but he struggled to hide the warmth it brought him to relive the two full years he spent with his lover. It wasn’t a love that sailed smoothly but it was an _enthralling_ one that coursed through their actions and brought their hearts into a single and secure union. 

_‘I knew about his life and he knew about mine. We started to be more honest with each other about our thoughts. He encouraged me to return home because he knew I was homesick. I rallied behind him when he was angry with his friends. The more we knew about each other, the more distance was put between us. Our lives were so different. But you would never believe how tightly we held onto each other even then. This was love I thought. I would hold onto him even if I had to do so with broken hands…’_

The end of the story occurred in the temperate embrace of springtime. Yixing, with a bruised face and a broken ribcage, said his emotional goodbyes. He was going away for a while. Kyungsoo couldn’t come. The rains came. Kyungsoo watched him go and fell apart; and he lived his life, scattered, for the years that followed.

_‘With time, he felt more and more like a dream I’d had. The more I remembered about our years together, the less real it felt. I chose to live with it like that. And then three weeks ago, he came to see me at a place where I frequently had tea. When I saw him, it was like I had seen a ghost. I couldn’t touch him. I was scared he’d turn to ash... ‘_

The meeting lasted twenty minutes. They exchanged small-talk and shared a pot of brown afternoon tea. Yixing squeezed his fingers in a tight hold and said it had been nice to see him. 

_‘You too I said. You too, Yixing. If I’d… known that was the last time… I would’ve probably said something more sincere. I felt like he wanted me to say something but I couldn’t bring it to my lips. Of course, I know what I should’ve said now…’_

It was then, under the full moon that same evening, that Kyungsoo would wake up with a mouthful of vividly blue petals for the first time.

And the next chapter of the story began.

 

 

 

The author’s pen hovered over the line which he hesitated to finish.

He looked up and regarded Kyungsoo whose eyes were staring out towards the direction of the window, the white light shining back onto his features. The knuckles of his left hand were squeezed against his lips as he broke into a pause, his fists curled, fingernails pressed to the tender skin of his palms. When their gazes met, the guest sat up again, his hands falling away as he murmured, 

“It’s really as simple as that, Mr. Park. I’m sorry it can’t be more exciting. I’d say that the key of the entire process is _time_. Everything in love takes time. It’s a little like an adventure. When you wander, the journey takes time and when it ends, it takes more time to find your way home again, doesn’t it?” 

“It does.” Chanyeol looked down in his notebook as he obediently repeated the line.

_Love is a journey._

There was nothing novel about the concept but it felt like a fitting conclusion to give to the tale that Chanyeol had heard.

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Do?” The author asked, “Did your feelings ever change when you found out about his background?” 

“No.”

 _Love is unconditional._ “Do you ever regret loving him?” 

“Never.” _Love is loyal._

Kyungsoo responded with patience like he already predicted the questions that would come his way. He seemed relieved by them because they were easy to him. This all led to reinforce the inevitable conclusion and undeniable truth -- 

“Your heart belongs to him,” Chanyeol glanced at his notes briefly, running a finger over the agitated notes he’d made, “So why aren’t you coughing up petals right now?” 

The question amused his guest. His large lips expanded into a soft smile as he chewed them in thought. 

“I wondered that too. I suppose it’s because I’ve talked about the times when he loved me back.... Also my symptoms are mild. I’ve been managing it well.” 

“I see.” 

“....I know why you’re asking and how it seems. With Yixing being in court, it’s easy to put him in a box and sell him as one thing.” Kyungsoo interjected as he planted his hands on his thighs, sliding forwards, “But you can’t judge accurately what you don’t know. I can sit here and describe the way he held me in a hundred different ways and I guarantee that you still won’t understand why my heart feels the way it does…. I wish I understood too… But I don’t.”

Against the power of Kyungsoo’s statement, the words on the author’s page suddenly felt irrelevant. Chanyeol looked at the sentences with a thoughtful expression whilst contemplating if such a feat would be possible. Could one really describe a person’s embrace in a hundred different ways? If he attempted to, he probably could. 

But he would need to feel it first. He would need to feel a warmth-- an _intimacy_ \-- that would warrant such an effort. 

“Have you been in love, Mr. Park?”

And he hadn’t yet. “No,” Chanyeol replied as he looked up from his notes, “I’ve had lovers but I’ve never been in love. Not like you.” 

“It makes sense.” Kyungsoo said. “If you’ve been in love, you wouldn’t look at me like I was speaking piously. You would know what I mean.”

“I want to.” Chanyeol revealed, emotions surging to the surface of his voice as he cast his gaze to the shelves in the background. “But I’ve been unlucky.” 

“It’s all about time and timing too. You’ll probably fall without ever meaning to. You’ll fall and only realise that you were falling when you finally hit the ground.” 

Before long, the author felt overcome with private emotion again. Chanyeol placed his book to the side as he wiped his eyes quickly with a tissue. He looked up and met his companion’s gaze before breaking out into a kind laugh. 

“I think someone injured your heart a long time ago,” Kyungsoo observed with a comforting tone, “It’s okay. Hearts heal. That’s what they do.” 

Chanyeol smiled sadly. “It was my fault actually. When you injure your own heart, I think the healing process takes longer…” 

“It does. That’s why I’d think twice about writing about one-sided love.” Kyungsoo shared as he looked down to regard the floor, “There are a million stories like us out there. Give those readers a happy ending.”

The room fell into a natural quiet. Only then did Chanyeol realise that Kyungsoo was wiping his own eyes with the heel of his palm. Watching him do so led him back to the hollow man he had seen yesterday. The man with the suffering heart. It was glaringly clear now how in the short sequence of interactions they’d shared, Kyungsoo had presented himself to be a deeply sincere but flawed individual. And Chanyeol felt endowed with a strange sense of honour in seeing these sides of another man.

For here, in a society where pride was everything, there was a man who admitted freely to having nothing. 

It was overwhelming; _he_ was overwhelming.

Chanyeol was beyond enthralled.

“Mr. Do, I want to write for you.” 

Kyungsoo narrowed his eyes in confusion before he laughed, smiling, thoroughly warming the author’s study as the gesture brought its natural light to the room. 

“Well, if you insist then I’d advise you to write another love story, Mr. Park.” Kyungsoo said as he wrapped his arms over himself in a feigned embrace, “Write one and make it happy.” 

“I will!” The author made a show of returning his book to his lap, “You will be so happy you’ll cry.”

“I can’t wait,” Kyungsoo continued to laugh.

Chanyeol then raised his hands to the air and drew a line to imitate a book’s dedication. His left hand then pinched his thumb and forefinger together to imitate the signing of a pen. Across, Kyungsoo watched with deep interest as the author punctuated the space with fond words.

“ _To my good friend, Mr. Do…_ ”

Beneath his hand, Chanyeol caught a glimpse of Kyungsoo’s eager expression and grew flustered. The sentiments vanished and he blurted out an awkward,

“...ah, _thank you._ ”

The author suppressed a shudder of embarrassment. But his companion appeared amused as he kept his gaze settled on the spot of space that Chanyeol had highlighted as if imagining it to be true.

“If we’re going to be good friends. You’re going to have to start calling me Kyungsoo,” Kyungsoo retorted as their gazes met again. 

“Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol echoed, his cheeks dusting with the faintest pink as he shrunk at the sudden informality of it. It felt completely strange to say. However he wouldn’t deny that the idea of being good friends made him giddy. “Yes. Please call me Chanyeol.”

“Okay. Chanyeol.” 

Kyungsoo seemed indifferent to the significance of the whole thing and acknowledged this newfound familiarity between them with his characteristically cheery smile. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the night that followed, Chanyeol’s mind feasted freely on the images of Kyungsoo’s story. He recalled most of the details accurately, but it was the shifts of expression on his companion’s face that the author found notably compelling. 

He recalled the way Kyungsoo had smiled when he spoke of the night him and his lover had met. It was a sad but enamored gesture: fitting of what had been a meeting of minds under a shoddy bar roof. Chanyeol imagined how overwhelming that affection must have been to an abandoned runaway. 

After many lonely nights, it must have served as a reminder to Kyungsoo that he hadn’t been forgotten completely by the world. A fleeting but meaningful glimpse of light; that grew to shine like a beacon of hope. There was no wonder that they had fallen in love so deeply. All the stars had aligned for them; they had needed each other and they were both _there_ , providing clear evidence of how profoundly love’s path depended on _time_.

A ruling element which nobody had the power to control. 

Chanyeol soon fell asleep on his couch deep into the late hours, his notebook pressed to his chest and his head swimming with beautiful lines and wondrous images of a love that wasn’t his.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“He’s completely asleep. Probably drunk. This is just like him.” 

The next morning, Chanyeol woke up to the sound of voices in his apartment. Junmyeon and Sehun had let themselves into his study and with them, was the author’s wardrobe, for the long-awaited reunion with Kim Jongin and the accompanying film screening. 

Choosing to let the pair have their way from hauling the curtains open to heating up the coffee-pot, Chanyeol pressed his face stubbornly into a cushion as he sensed Sehun lean against the arm of the chair by his head.

“Good morning sweet prince,” greeted the journalist, “It’s time to pick out a tie for your shirt. We can’t all clash. I can’t have that viper Wilmott-Burn write me into her sad excuse of a column again.”

“I like her column! And for the record, I’ll be wearing a navy tie.” Junmyeon said as he re-entered the room with a tray of strong coffees. 

The bitter scent of the liquid reached the author and he felt his needy grasp on sleep loosen. “Navy? That’s _too_ vague, Junmyeon. What kind of navy is it? Navy? Indigo navy? Peacoat? A dark blue? A space grey?” Sehun’s complaints were interrupted by Junmyeon holding a coffee cup to his lips as the older man glanced down at Chanyeol who was gazing at them through heavy and ragged eyes. 

“Good morning champ. Rough night?” 

“Just deep dreams,” said Chanyeol in a slightly croaky voice as he reached for the coffee and tended to his wild bed hair, “Isn’t Jongin’s premiere tomorrow?” 

“Sehun’s excited. He couldn’t wait.” Junmyeon said as he settled beside Chanyeol and sipped his own mug.

“I’ll be away all day tomorrow at some orphanage visit by a governor. I need this settled today. So please, let’s not be careless with time,” Sehun raised a finger, completely lost in his own thoughts, “Is it a navy? Or a dark navy? Or a space grey?” 

They entertained this subject until Sehun was satisfied. There was no point in trying to outsmart the younger man. Sehun was a master of arguments. 

Eventually that conversation ended and talk turned to that of their evening companions. 

“I’m being forced to take Hong Dana.” Sehun said as he rolled his dark eyes. The author was left to presume that his family was matchmaking again.

“I’m taking my sister.” Junmyeon said, “It’s her first night out since my nephew was born.” 

“And you, Chanyeol? You can’t go alone.” Sehun pressed.

The prospect of the author being in Wilmott-Burn’s gossip column prompted his friends to be more deeply invested in the meaningless matter. Chanyeol wiped his sleep-swollen cheeks with his warm hand as he contemplated his answer.

“I haven’t had the time to ask anyone. I may have to go alone.”

“Noooo!” cried the pair as Junmyeon elbowed him and Sehun shook his head in refusal, “You can’t risk your title as the city’s most _charming_ author. You have to flaunt your charm through your friends!”

The egotism of their society circles felt even more frivolous in the face of Chanyeol’s most recent experiences. He opened his mouth to argue that point exactly before a funny idea entered his mind. 

“Should I invite Do Kyungsoo?” 

Chanyeol lifted the cup to his lips and noted the surprised expression on both his friends’ faces. Junmyeon was first to respond and he did so with enthusiasm.

“I can’t see why not!” 

Sehun appeared to weigh the points against each other. To attend with a stranger or not to appear with one at all. 

“I can’t see why not,” he echoed Junmyeon in his usual dramatic drawl, tongue lazing around the syllables as he smiled affectionately at Chanyeol, “Now can you please shower so we can all try on our suits like proper men?”

-
    
    
    **TELEGRAM RECEIVED at:
    
              9.B C-COMPLEX,  12-8-1958
                              MR. DO KYUNGSOO**
    
          Sending telegram no telephone answer
          Wondered if you were free tomorrow evening   
           I have a ticket for a movie screening
           There is plenty of food and drink
           Let me know by telephone i’ll be home all day thank you.
                               **MR. PARK CHANYEOL**
    

-

Kyungsoo responded to his invitation by telephone in the later afternoon. He sounded comparably more flustered and hesitant after Chanyeol revealed that it was in fact a movie _premiere_ \-- but the author was quick to reassure his companion that it was a light opening and it was being hosted for friends and chosen guests. 

“You seem to be the type to like the pictures,” mused the author as he placed a cigarette between his lips, dusting his study desk closely as far as his telephone cord could reach, “So I thought I should ask you.”

Warm laughter crossed the line prompting the author to smile. “ _I do…. And if you’re sure I won’t be taking the opportunity away from someone else--_ ”

“Absolutely not.”

“ _Then it would be my pleasure to come. Six in the evening was it? I’ll see you tomorrow._ ”

“Swell. See you.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the following evening, a series of lightning storms had broken the heavens into pieces. A miserable grey stained the sky like patches of black smoke. The half-moon floated eerily - a ghostly god cloaked and watching behind thick clouds. 

Despite the weather, the cultural quarter was fully alive and in business. Ladies in thick colorful furs sauntered by, holding onto theatre pamphlets and tickets, their long arms linked with other elegant women and gentlemen. Working men strolled along the concourse puffing large and expensive cigarettes, as they flooded the bars in packs. Across these two primary busy streets, divided by a long road, figures waved cheerily at each other and shouted salutations from the inside of shiny limousines.

A heady force of wind slammed into Chanyeol as he exited his vehicle. In a panic, his hands flew to his head to confine his hat as he walked speedily to the direction of _The Diamond_ theatre. Beneath the shimmer of the intermittently flashing bright lights by the theatre marquee, adjacent to the large sign that notified of the special private screening, Chanyeol saw Kyungsoo in a long grey overcoat. The smaller man was looking around as if hailing a taxi, occasionally bending to the pavement as he watched the vehicles speed by.

“Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol called out to him as he increased his pace to a light jog and appeared in front of the smaller man, “Sorry for making you wait. Let’s come inside, you must be freezing cold!” 

Kyungsoo appeared relieved as their eyes met.

“Good evening! And don’t worry. I only arrived a few minutes before you.” He let out a long unwinding breath and appeared to glance curiously at Chanyeol’s clothes, clearly assessing his own and whether he’d complied appropriately to the dress code of _elegant evening wear_.

“You look nice,” Chanyeol blurted out in the hopes of reassuring him but he was left to wonder whether he had pressured him for what would follow was the man laughing softly, as he returned the compliment.

“So do you.”

The wind returned causing the board by them to swing violently. As another crowd of people threatened to displace them from their spot, Chanyeol reacted by suggesting that they entered the theatre with haste.

“Come on. Let’s go inside and greet people,” he urged, a smile secured on his lips as he stepped towards the door, “I really want you to meet my friends.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The small screening was primarily directed at local movie critics and the family and friends of those most closely associated with the film. Chanyeol moved through with general inattention, only glancing back to spare a glance at his companion to ensure he hadn’t lost him through carelessness in the crowd. Occasionally, a familiar voice would leap from the thick maundering of the guest chatter and ask for him - but Chanyeol did his best to contain the urge to engage as he wanted to put Kyungsoo’s comfort first.

Eventually, after some amusing run-ins with theatre staff, Chanyeol found the actor’s dressing room which Sehun had organised as their group meet-up point. Behind the door with the fading white paint, the author grinned at the sound of the overlapping voices. He beckoned Kyungsoo over before pushing against the object and letting the disjointed exchange fall prey to their prying, 

“.... I bet you were all over those Hollywood glamourpusses, Jongin. They’re your type aren’t they? All spindly-limbed like… spiders!” 

“Aw, are you jealous Sehunnie? You know there are only two spindly-limbed spiders for my heart. You are one and the other-- why, speak of the spider and he appears. Park Chanyeol get in here!”

Chanyeol stepped inside practically howling with laughter as he ran into Jongin and embraced him tightly. He kissed the younger man’s temple, before holding his face and laughing again, “You’re clean-shaven! What is all this Hollywood nonsense? What have they done with our rugged broadway Apollo?” 

“They’ve stripped him for supper, Chanyeol,” Sehun retorted with a wry laugh, as he leaned on Junmyeon’s shoulder, “He’ll be singing _Make Me Your Dreamboat_ next.” 

As the most intelligent of their group of friends, Jongin had been the last person that Chanyeol expected to be allured by the shadowy glamour of show business. Growing up with parents that doted on him and all his achievements, the graduated medic had always seemed indescribably content. But from a single glance, it was easy to understand why those representing the silver screen had pursued him with such valor ever since he featured on a gossip column alongside the other _bowtie boys_ (Sehun, Chanyeol and Junmyeon) that attended Junmyeon’s sister’s wedding. 

He had the presence of a Hollywood heartbreaker: a man’s jaw, a broad forehead, and a natural charming countenance in the way that he publicly held himself that flirted well with the imagination. He was also endowed with a perfect and enviable _figure_. As part of his medical training, Jongin had spent time shadowing a military doctor in the regional camps and had ended up incorporating their rigid fitness schedule into his own. He was muscular in every way and this meant that he grew to be the summer infatuation of _everyone’s_ sisters including Chanyeol’s own to his embarrassment. 

His only acting experience before this had been a few theatre plays at their alma mater -- some written by his very best friends. But Jongin had been a natural then as he was with everything and so they anticipated that he would succeed here despite his limited experience.

“....You are making fun of me too! You are all making me feel very at home,” Jongin said feigning a frown as Chanyeol helped him arrange his tie. The actor then turned and pointed at the figure still at the door, “And who’s there! Come inside!” 

“Oh!” Chanyeol looked up as he suddenly remembered his companion and hastily moved towards Kyungsoo to welcome him inside. 

The room silenced suddenly when Kyungsoo entered. There was an observable decline in the energy of the atmosphere, carried by Sehun’s rising eyebrow and Jongin’s confused stare, but Chanyeol introduced him quickly to ease his companion’s concerns.

“Ah! I wanted you all to meet my guest for the evening! This is Do Kyungsoo. He’s a new friend of mine.” 

Jongin was first to greet him being naturally the most friendly. The confusion on his face vanished in an instant and he was quick to shake Kyungsoo’s hand like they had met before. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Kim Jongin. Your name sounds familiar. Are you related to Do Woojin?”

“He’s my brother,” Kyungsoo said as they shook hands, “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Wonderful! I’ve played baseball against him. Great fielder.” 

As Jongin turned away again to inspect his clothing, Kyungsoo was introduced to Sehun and Junmyeon who were on adjacent stools. The shorter of the two had a theatre pamphlet on his lap which he had been reading but removed politely for their introduction. 

“Oh Sehun.” was the simple greeting from the youngest as he shook Kyungsoo’s hand, never breaking eye contact.

“Mr. Oh.” Kyungsoo paused in thought before supplying in a quieter voice, “Like the lawyer, Mr. Oh?”

An instant sense of repulsion came across the room as Jongin groaned and Sehun let his head fall back dramatically until it hit the wall. “My father is banned from all conversations tonight, Mr. Do,” declared Sehun, “I will only allow talks of uncles. Like here, our dear old greying uncle, Kim Junmyeon.” Sehun rested his head on Junmyeon’s shoulder as Junmyeon reached across to shake Kyungsoo’s hand. 

“Don’t mind Oh Sehun, he always comes to these things half-drunk. He claims it makes him wittier. But that remains disproven.” Outraged, Sehun pinched Junmyeon’s ear causing the other to wince loudly before he caught Kyungsoo’s eyes and managed to greet him, “It’s a pleasure, Kyungsoo.” 

The antics of his friends didn’t surprise Chanyeol in the slightest. After gathering that Kyungsoo’s silence was a sign that he’d had quite enough immersion, Chanyeol decided that it was a good time for them to leave.

“Alright, well since you’ve embarrassed me plenty. I should think it’s time for me to have a drink. I can’t bear to be around any of you any longer. Are you alright to go, Kyungsoo?”

“Yes.” Kyungsoo said, the same stiff politeness in his form as he said his goodbyes.

“Bye-bye,” Sehun waved, before he buried his face against Junmyeon’s shoulder and pronounced a half-hearted complaint about the lack of dry martinis in the room. 

A gentle hand was planted on the youngest’s head by the oldest as Junmyeon expressed an observation which he’d held onto since Chanyeol left the room with Kyungsoo. 

“He’s of a similar build to Baekhyun.” 

“I thought that also.” Jongin said as he brushed down his sleeves. 

“ _A broken heart is like a clock with an overwound spring, doomed to be out of beat, out of time, an intricate thing rendered purposeless by blind neglect._ ” Sehun recited out of nowhere as he lifted his head and blinked at Junmyeon through equally dreary and charming eyes. 

“Is our Sehun a poet now too?” Jongin asked as he approached the pair, landing in Sehun’s lap in the process as he pinched the other’s pale cheek with an affectionate laugh.

“It’s the opening line of _A Tender Love_ ,” Sehun revealed, gently wrapping an arm around Jongin as to not crease his clothing, “It’s the last thing that Chanyeol wrote for that book. I liked it so much I have it on a bookmark.” 

“He can’t still be thinking of him.” Jongin murmured, “It’s been years.”

“Not to a broken clock.” Junmyeon mused as all three consciously glanced at the door that had held their friend only moments ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The film _Miracles in December_ was a 120-minute project being marketed as a winter featurette for couples seeking a romantic tearjerker in a film landscape currently dominated by highly political pictures. Jongin played the lead character, Leon, who fell deeply in love with a young clerk but was unable to pursue her after he was conscripted for the army. When he returned, he suffered severe memory loss and was unable to remember her or their brief summer affair.

It was surprisingly comical at the start due to some well-placed jokes and witty speeches and Chanyeol found himself laughing a great deal. The mood rightly shifted towards the latter quarter of the film whereby the script focused entirely on the romance as the despairing couple reached a happy end with Leon reconciling with his lost memories.

Chanyeol glanced casually at his companion as the final speeches were exchanged and saw that Kyungsoo was thoroughly immersed in the picture. There was an expression on his face that could only be described as _awed_. 

 

_“I went through hell.” Jongin -- Leon -- held her face, the moonlight casting a glow on her perfect complexion, “And I would go through it again for the chance of heaven with you.”_

_“Leon,” the lady whispered, as she poised her lips close to his, “Never leave me again.”_

They kissed; the violins played. 

 

Chanyeol had been to screenings before whereby he’d ended the screening with his hand firmly around another. Society had marketed this as a solely _romantic_ gesture but he’d shared this experience openly with everyone from friends to family members. He regarded it as innocently as any other gesture of reassurance. 

Observing how Kyungsoo’s expression grew unreadably still as the film closed, Chanyeol found himself wishing that he could’ve been bolder and held the other’s hand. The author was convinced that the picture had subjected the man to some degree of upset and his guilt was clear in the expression he held to his face as the house lights were switched on.

But Chanyeol’s senses predicted inaccurately. 

“Wasn’t that just the best type of film for winter?” Kyungsoo said excitedly as he leaned across their chairs, a bright smile on his lips. He looked completely replenished with energy even though they had been sat for a long period of time. 

“Oh, you liked it?” Chanyeol said, eyes wide.

“Of course! Didn’t you?” 

“I did. Of course I did. I like all romantic things. I was worried you’d be—“ The stammer trailed off into a low mumble as they stood up with most people flowing out into the aisles. 

“... upset? I was okay. As I said, I’m managing my symptoms.” Kyungsoo reassured him. 

“You didn’t think they were too naive?” Chanyeol asked nervously as they found themselves moving towards the exit side-by-side. 

His companion let his voice drop to a whisper as he gazed up in his direction. “They were very naive. So I don’t think the screenwriter has fallen in love deeply either,” Kyungsoo admitted before opening the door for the other to walk through, “But I still liked it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The ensuing reception for the screening was held in the large event hall within the theatre. It was divided from the rest of the place by huge mahogany doors that resembled harrowing tower gates. Occasionally, they would be opened and a flood of noise would spill out but once the doors were closed, the sounds and conversations were confined to the room with surprising effect.

As the pair stood by the door, waiting for the rest of the group, Chanyeol noticed that Kyungsoo was nervously wringing his jacket sleeve. He looked distracted and uncomfortable even though he kept sending Chanyeol the same calm smiles when their gazes met. The door opened again and out came the dusty shimmer of camera light bulbs. The light was so stunning that it reached all the way to their shoes, accentuating their shine. 

“Kyungsoo, are you alright?” Chanyeol asked. 

Kyungsoo spoke in a quick string of syllables, completely giving away the level of his discomfort.

“I don’t think I can stay for this Chanyeol. I’m sorry but I think I’ll go home now.” 

Having grown better acquainted with the smaller man’s personality, this didn’t surprise Chanyeol as much as it had before. Kyungsoo was displaying the same disconcerted energy he’d subtly showed at the engagement party. There, Chanyeol had reacted wrongly and had tried to coerce him into an activity -- dancing -- even though the signs he wanted anything but had been obvious. Chanyeol had no interest in making the same error again and he acknowledged the request with a firm nod. 

“Fine. Then let’s go somewhere else. I just have to tell Jongin.”

“Oh no!” Kyungsoo held up a hand to stop him, “Don’t do that. Don’t miss this party for my sake.”

Chanyeol responded with a laugh as he shook his head indignantly. 

“There’s a party like this every night. I won’t miss much. Do you know a bar around here? We can get a cab.” He paused, running through his actions again as he paused and circled back to what he should have said _first_ , “If you want a drink, that is. You don’t have to.” 

“Ah-- I want to!” laughed Kyungsoo, as he raised a finger and pointed east, “There’s one a short walk away.”

“Perfect! Let’s go there. I’ll just say my goodbyes to my friends. Give me a minute.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

With a pair of umbrellas in hand, the two men crossed the long pavement that spanned the cultural quarter of their city. Every so often, crowds of people would spill from theatre doors, locked in chatter as they excitedly discussed their first impressions of the play they had seen. They passed by busy restaurants and watched with casual attention as well-dressed people dined on exquisite food under candlelight and lavish chandeliers. A lingering spotlight followed their every step carried by the generous lighting of the many marquees they greeted. Kyungsoo looked confident and relaxed in the fresh air and Chanyeol allowed him to guide the way, completely taken by his anticipation for the rest of the evening. 

“Here!”

The bar that Kyungsoo chose appeared fairly modest from the outside. It was a short multi storey building that looked, in part, residential aside from the ground floor being occupied by a music shop. There was not a single item of decoration around the building but Chanyeol soon became aware of the sound of faint music resonating from an unseen source: the lazy drawl of a saxophone, the stutter of a drum beat. Kyungsoo beckoned them both down the steps leading to the basement and Chanyeol followed with no hesitation. 

When they entered, all sense of the building’s modesty and lack of flavour vanished.

The music was loud and brazen, the conversations and the people even more so. It was full -- fuller than any of the places they had seen -- and there was such a rabid assault of sensations that Chanyeol found himself quickly dazzled by how much it contrasted against the organised docility of high society occasions. Compared to the bars he frequented, or the gentlemen’s clubs he was invited to, there was no underlying dress code of any kind with groups of men in army uniforms being comfortably placed beside a group of ladies in secretary jackets with their top buttons undone and heels snugly hidden under their stools. 

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo asked kindly. 

Chanyeol looked down at him and nodded quickly. He admitted that he found it amusing that the question would now be returned to him. He felt like it was all he had said to Kyungsoo all evening. “My, you’re tall,” Kyungsoo said with a laugh, as he added, “We can go somewhere else!” 

“Not at all! This is my style!” Chanyeol insisted as he urged for him to continue through the block of people. 

The house band suddenly emerged into view. Despite the intensity of the noise, there were only a few present members: a trumpeter, a pianist, saxophonist and a jazz drummer. Chanyeol turned towards the stage excitedly like a thrilled puppy finding their performance absolutely fascinating to watch. Behind him, his companion, obviously endeared expressed a soft laugh as he pulled at Chanyeol’s arm lightly,

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a live band before!” 

“Not like this! They’re incredible!” Chanyeol said, straining his voice over the wonderful mix of sounds.

The pair found themselves settled on a pair of stools by the square-shaped bar. Behind the wooden counter, two barmen worked expertly to serve a spectrum of drinks to their patrons. Chanyeol ordered a brandy whilst Kyungsoo requested for the bar special. They removed their overcoats; the place was _boiling_. Chanyeol removed his blazer soon after to further blend into the bar’s informal scene. Kyungsoo did the same but for the temperature. 

Together, in their sweat-soaked, loose-tied, dry-tongued state, they looked as casual as two office friends starting their evening together after a dreadfully long week at the bank. They spun around on their hard stools, their attentions invested fully in the band as they ran through their nightly set with an ungodly vigour. 

“What’s in the special?” Chanyeol asked, genuinely curious as despite the obscurity of the place, they did host a generous and diverse range of liquors, something expected from a much more upscale establishment. 

“Does it matter? It’s all poison isn’t it.” 

“Amen.” 

Their drinks arrived. The band had changed tact and played something considerably slower in pace, resembling the type of music in the parties Chanyeol attended. But here, the music was far more rhythmic and free: the occasional bad note, missed drum count, only added to its homely charm. 

“What shall we toast to?” Chanyeol asked, holding his cup of caramel-coloured liquid in the air as he rested his elbow on the counter.

“To… films?” Kyungsoo suggested, “To its success? Or… to friendship maybe?”

Chanyeol clicked his fingers in victory, prompting the other man to laugh softly. 

“Bingo. Let’s do that one.” He toasted his glass with practiced elegance, “To friendship!”

Comparably shyer, Kyungsoo echoed his words, “To friendship!” as their glasses touched and Chanyeol felt relinquished to whatever else his evening had in store for him.

 

 

 

 

 

Drinking with a new friend was an unaffirmed cultural dance of compatibility. How a man took his liquor gave a mild flavour of the type of man that he was. Chanyeol, whose tolerance of drink was relatively high, found himself completely impressed by Kyungsoo and his shocking resilience in the face of the bar special which he swore was a drink comprised of water from the River Styx. At some point, between the fourth and fifth glasses, they had turned it into a game and Chanyeol found himself resigned to defeat.

“Enough!” he pleaded helplessly, “If I drink anymore I won’t be able to talk with any sense by the end of the night.” 

Kyungsoo appeared amused by his plight. “You need to learn how to take your drink. This is the lover’s holy water, didn’t you know?” 

This would have amused Chanyeol had he not felt his stomach clinch at the sight of the special in Kyungsoo’s hand.

“I don’t know how drinking leads to _love_. I can barely string words together when I’m drunk. How is that romantic?” 

“Some people are wittier, like your friend,” answered Kyungsoo, “Some are bolder. Some are…” The smaller man stopped to laugh as Chanyeol rubbed his eyes against the heel of his large palms, “more _endearing_. It can all add up to more attraction.” 

“You talk more when you’re drunk you know,” Chanyeol said pointedly as his hands returned to his sides before smiling broadly as he gestured to the barman, “I’ll keep drinking if that will keep you talking.”

Kyungsoo laughed again. It was becoming an increasingly familiar and welcomed sound. Chanyeol sensed that his companion’s natural shyness was slowly ebbing away and he couldn’t help but feel victorious even if it was mostly the alcohol’s doing. 

“Why?” the smaller man asked, a charming drawl to his voice, “I’m full of _nonsense_.” 

“That might be so,” Chanyeol echoed in the same tone as he smiled at him, “But I like your voice.”

“You should hear me sing,” Kyungsoo said dreamily, “My voice really shines when I sing.” And then he hiccuped, and he laughed, “No, don’t take notice of that. I don’t know what possessed me just then.” 

The author drained his drink as he shook his head in dispute. “You must sing now! You can’t tease me like that! Look! I’ll tell the band myself!”

“Chanyeol,” pleaded Kyungsoo, a smile still on his lips, as he reached for the author’s arm, “Don’t…” 

“Please, please! I’ll give anything to hear you sing here one time!” 

“Chanyeol… I can’t….” 

“First, you won’t… _dance_ with me? Then you won’t sing? I’m writing you a book, goddamnit!” Chanyeol placed his large hands over his face playfully, mumbling frustrated nonsense before he sensed a stranger’s hand press against his fingers.

“One song,” Kyungsoo declared as the author peeked through his hands, “One song if the band agrees.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By exercising some of his negotiation and storytelling skills, as well as a _tiny_ part of his monetary wealth, the author was able to grant Kyungsoo the opportunity to sing on the stage with the band they had loved so much. He had dragged Kyungsoo with him during the band’s timed breaks and had guided him to the stage, positioned him beneath the spotlight, before cheering him on as he quickly returned to his seat.

His heart had been full with certainty. The man sat down, ready to cheer, to _indulge_. However, a single glance at the figure under the spotlight would completely eliminate his anticipation. 

Kyungsoo stood with the weight of the spotlight on him in a completely still stance. He appeared almost statuesque, with the band behind him left stunted awaiting for any signal to begin. Gaining a faint recognition of what he had subjected his companion to, Chanyeol’s brain roused into action as he was freed by a sudden need to pull the smaller off the stage, shield him from the light and secure him from the strangers’ eyes that watched from the dark.

He stood up carelessly, almost taking his stool with him, and as he stepped into the shadows he caught sight of Kyungsoo’s eyes. They were full and glimmering, but there was no horror in them. Instead Chanyeol swore that he saw _relief_ as if he had been waiting; as if seeing the author there had been his signal.

The rendition of Miller’s _Moonlight Serenade_ that followed became one of the most memorable things Chanyeol would ever experience in his life.

The author never occupied his seat again and chose to watch the performance where he was certain that Kyungsoo could see him. He listened to the voice, _melted_ against the richness of the singer’s register, and followed with blind obedience as Kyungsoo lifted the romantic lyrics to the audience with expert emotion. He sang so lovingly that it was hard not to feel distant from the realities of the cold winter; shifted closer instead to June and the premise of passionate summer love affairs.

Occasionally, their eyes would meet and there would be something, a flicker, that inexpressibly deepened his connection to the experience; to Kyungsoo. 

The song ended to liberal applause. Kyungsoo expressed his gratitude to the band and his audience and returned to Chanyeol who could only smile in his overwhelmed state.

They didn’t speak much afterwards. They drank one more generously filled glass each before making their way out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pair of men emerged to the sight of the heavens finally renouncing its power to the full brunt of a rainstorm. Water dripped from every solid element of their foreground, and combined with the wind, it shrouded the city in a fathomless freezing mist.

In the distance, even the marquee lights were beginning to dim one by one, furthering the darkness.

The pair stood together under the music shop’s sloped shop front roof. Chanyeol listened to the rainfall as he folded his arms over his chest, feeling miserably cold. He thought of many warm things to amuse his brain but it kept returning with ceaseless severity to the sight of Kyungsoo singing alone at the stage. His beautiful voice providing a pleasant substitute for the harsh and incessant drilling of raindrops against the metal pipes above them.

“I’m sorry if I forced you to sing,” Chanyeol said then, unable to bear the silence any more, as Kyungsoo gazed up at him, “I shouldn’t have done it.” 

Tomorrow, when his head was returned to its sensible and sober axis, he was sure he would be glad that he apologised. But for now, he admitted that he didn’t feel particularly apologetic. The remnants of the rest of his evening could peel away to obscurity but the significance of witnessing Kyungsoo sing was something he couldn’t describe and could only be thankful for. 

“I’m sorry.” Chanyeol repeated after Kyungsoo failed to respond.

He would’ve repeated it again -- _pleaded_ \-- had he not realised that Kyungsoo was smiling. 

In the dark, there was no doubting the smile that the author had faithfully burned into his memories. Kyungsoo looked into Chanyeol’s eyes with a heavy and curious stare, the faintest gleam residing in them, as he spoke quietly with the rain falling amply in the background. 

“Singing to me is what writing is to you. After my diagnosis, I lost all courage to sing in front of people. For a second, at the start when I stood there, I felt the petals grow in my throat. I was scared. I really thought that was the end of it but when I saw you, it all went away… Thank you really. I wouldn’t have been able to do that on my own… I’m so _happy_ I want to cry…” 

The singer’s voice broke as he raised his hand to his lips. With a sharp inhale, he then threw his gaze downwards as he bowed his head to the floor. The sounds of the storm overwhelmed the author’s immediate surroundings and for a moment, he was frozen in his spot, incapable of grasping his own response to such a statement. But then the words reached his lips; the right words to describe how profoundly he had been affected.

“You were exceptional, Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol shared with a playful laugh as he planted a hand on the man’s shoulder, “I have never felt so moved by anything in my life…” 

The taller man bent downwards to further show his appreciation but found his actions interrupted by what he saw next.

The _petals_ ; they were falling to the floor, following the wind, scattering out of the confines of Kyungsoo’s pained grip. Arched forwards, Kyungsoo struggled to hold them against his lips as he continued to cough painfully into his hands. And then he surrendered, letting his fingers unfurl, a small shower of petals falling freely in the dim light. 

Chanyeol watched in complete shock as they landed like bright blue tears onto the wet black pavement. He then lifted the other man’s face to him with frantic hands, struck by the sudden heat of the other’s skin. 

“Kyungsoo? Are you okay! Kyungsoo!” 

Between his lips, a petal remained, a shocking blue against his complexion. The author brushed it away with a tender swipe of this thumb.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.” Kyungsoo reached for his face, nails lightly skimming against his skin, “Don’t worry.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes were wet and tinted a painful red. He continued to insist that he was fine. However after noting that the smaller man was taking progressively shakier breaths, the author resolved to leave the cold night behind. “We’ll get a cab to my apartment. It’s closer. And then we’ll hail a cab for you there, okay?” 

“Okay.”

“Let me hold the umbrella,” Chanyeol maneuvered them around so he was on Kyungsoo’s left and thereby closer to the road. 

Out of instinct, he placed an arm around Kyungsoo’s shoulder and held him tightly. The author immediately recognised his action and prepared to apologise, only to be silenced as he sensed the other’s left arm slide comfortably around his waist.

They walked together into the violent and cold rainstorm, mud and water pooling around their ankles, drowning the fabric of their clothes, and in the vague distance - 

A light. A cab.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the evening was a barren memory. Chanyeol opened his eyes in the morning with a remarkable headache and an even more prominent sore throat. He roused from his bed, smoothing a hand over his chest as he stepped through the door and walked directly into his study. As was his routine, the author flung open the curtains, submerging the room in light as he turned to face it.

There, a strong and detailed memory stirred at the sight of two shot glasses and a half-bottle of liquor on the desk. 

It was the missing pieces: the glimpses of the final chapter of his eventful evening which had commenced after he returned home in the evening with Kyungsoo in tow. They had entered the apartment at midnight, rain-drenched, shivering from the cold.

 

_“.... I can’t stay here.”_

_“Why not? The storm’s not going to pass until tomorrow morning. I have plenty of room.”_

 

His damp overcoat and jacket lay abandoned on the couch. Chanyeol stepped towards it and remembered how he’d left it there as he’d offered a towel in Kyungsoo’s direction. There were teacups by the lamp. 

He must have entered the room with tea and towels.

 

_“I’ll only stay if we drink a little longer.”_

_“Are you... crazy?”_

_“If I try and sleep sober, I’ll die of embarrassment in the middle of the night. It’s better to rest drunk.”_

_“I… see your point.”_

 

They dried off, changed clothes, drank and listened to the rain. This must have lasted for an hour or two.

Following the path of his memories, Chanyeol moved towards the doorway of the study and glanced knowingly at the hallway that led to the two large guest bedrooms. He recalled walking across, _swaying_ across with Kyungsoo, as he led them to the nearest one. 

He hadn’t been as drunk as Kyungsoo. A fortunate circumstance as Chanyeol managed to guide his guest carefully onto the bed, which the author insisted was cleaned dependably twice every week even if it wasn’t used. Kyungsoo had made a joke about the worthlessness of such a gesture; how it was so ridiculous that Chanyeol had to be lying. 

 

“ _You’re not really… really all alone here are you?”_

_“I am.”_

 

Chanyeol stood behind the door of the bedroom and glanced consciously at his bare feet. He knocked on the door a few times and called out softly.

Falling silent, he remembered the conversation he’d shared with Kyungsoo the night before, as he’d gingerly clothed the drunken chatty singer with the warm bed sheets. 

 

_“Sorry for the petals… there was so much this time…”_

_“Yes they were so blue! Like irises….”_

_“Like the sea. Like me.”_

_“Yes, like you.”_

 

Kyungsoo had laughed at that. And for a while after, they were reduced to laughing and exchanging other nonsense which Chanyeol certainly couldn’t remember now. But with time, they both began to unwind, and the conversation took on a more affectionate note.

 

_“Chanyeol, you’re a kind person. I saw that on the day I met you…. your heart. I hope you give it to someone deserving of your kindness.”_

 

The author had laughed as he’d sat by the other man at the head of the bed. His head had been completely dazed at that point - full to the brim of the blue petals that had danced in the winter wind. 

 

_“Alright. But for now, I’ll loan it to you. So you may gain strength from it.”_

_“Oh. What about you?”_

_“Well. I need it less right now…”_

 

Kyungsoo had laughed and smiled brightly in his direction. _“I’ll take it then,”_ as he took Chanyeol’s large hand and held its palm flat against his own, 

 

 _“Our hearts can keep each other warm for the rest of winter._ ”

 

The words caused the newly-awoken man to blush furiously, recalling how he’d reacted similarly to the admission only hours ago. 

He remembered the warmth of Kyungsoo’s hand, how he’d fallen asleep on Chanyeol’s arm minutes later, how the author was so stunned by the entire ordeal that he’d remained there unable to move, stirred only by the sense of Kyungsoo’s fingers entwining with his and the garish thought that followed -- 

 

_I’m not him._

 

The man in his memories hastily left the room; as the man in the present stepped inside. 

The bedroom was empty and neat. Kyungsoo must have woken up much earlier in the day.

Dazed, the author wandered back into the study. He walked to the desk and prepared to tidy the glasses only to recognise that Kyungsoo had left him a small note by the lamp.

 

_— It’s my turn to apologise.  
My sincere apologies for the intrusion.  
Aside from that, thank you for your hospitality and for the good evening I’ve had.  
Let us drink less next time._

_Your good friend.  
Kyungsoo  
_

 

The final line prompted the man to smile warmly. 

After reminding himself to send a telegram later in response, Chanyeol returned to tidy the glasses and was acquainted with the final key memory of his overwhelming evening. 

 

He recalled how he had stumbled back into the dim room, alone, to drink another two glasses, chanting a desperate— _“Forget… forget… forget…”_ Panicked, the deep blush on the drunk author’s cheeks had deepened, worsened, as the words and images of the evening swirled around in his mind adding a different plane of intoxication. He desperately managed two glasses; spluttered on the third; and then grabbed his notebook and swaggered, wobbling, onto his bed.

In the dark, by some miracle, the struggling author found the dexterity to take his pen and scribbled furiously into the pages until sleep claimed him completely.

 

 

 

Chanyeol tracked that same route and found the notebook half-open on his bedroom carpet. With a tentative sigh, he retrieved it and found two pages of wildly scribbled words, complete with dark blotches of ink staining the white paper. Writing whilst he had been inebriated wasn’t a new concept for the author, having scribed much of his college work with a foggy head, but he certainly didn’t possess any high hopes for the notes he’d written.

Expecting it to be a disjointed journal entry, the author was surprised to see a concrete piece of work emerge from the pages. Despite the shocking state of his handwriting and the misspelling of a few easy words, Chanyeol found out that last night, he had drunkenly composed the beginnings of a _poem_.

A poem titled _Blue_ that began with a simple,   
__

_“ You stained the floor Blue  
Blue like an iris,  
Blue like the sea,  
Blue like You -- _

And concluded with a more impassioned,

_  
You stained my fingers Blue  
now all I see is You_

_Blue like burning,  
Blue like drowning,  
Blue like You” _

 

He lowered the book to the bed and expelled a long breath. 

The man then returned to his study and moved the curtains aside to watch the streets in silence. 

Around him, the room seemed to compress inwards with the absence of noise, and with time he felt closer to the street than he did to his own belongings. This was becoming an increasingly common observation for the author. Compared to the stillness of his study, the quiet city had a beating pulse and he couldn’t help but admire it affectionately from a distance. It was in many ways the same approach to how he observed love between lovers; the fire between them, reduced to a fleeting warmth by his own unpracticed senses.

 _I’m not him_ , he repeated with a curious sort of indifference as he walked back to his desk to compose his telegram for his companion. 

 

-
    
    
    **TELEGRAM RECEIVED at:
    
              9.B C-COMPLEX,  12-11-1958
                              MR. DO KYUNGSOO**
    
          Thanks for your company last night
          I had a good time
          I hope your morning was OK despite 
          the alcohol
          Let’s meet for tea sometime
          Have a nice day.
                               **MR. PARK CHANYEOL**
    

-

-
    
    
    **TELEGRAM RECEIVED at:
    
              612 BLOOMING DAY APT, WSQUARE, 12-11-1958
                              MR. PARK CHANYEOL,**
    
          I feel much better today thank you
          Yes I had a good time also
          Tea sounds good
          Let’s meet again soon
          
         
                               **MR. DO KYUNGSOO**
    

-

The author met with Kyungsoo a handful more times before Christmas. They dined together in establishments which Kyungsoo recommended and Chanyeol was treated to taste all sorts of pleasant and foreign foods he had never thought to try before. Highlights included a _nacho_ and several alcohol-drenched desserts from the far South. During these meetings, they spoke more about Kyungsoo and his lover’s story, bolstering the details in a narrative that had become completely familiar to Chanyeol.

A day before the author was prearranged to take the train home to his family manor for the holidays; Chanyeol met up with Kyungsoo at a small cafe to exchange Christmas gifts. It was an idea that he had encouraged after he finally went to shop for his family and included all his close friends on his list.

Out of convenience, Chanyeol had the shophand wrap his present for him so it appeared refined in its glossy green holiday paper. On his lap was his companion’s present which was a small solid square, clothed in silver and finished off with a shimmering matching silver ribbon.

“I want to open it.” Chanyeol sighed as he reached for his cup and drained it with a huff.

“Should we? We’re not children. We won’t scold each other, right?” Kyungsoo teased as he ran his hand over his gift on the table.

“I’ve made up my mind. Let’s open them.”

“Yes! Let’s.”

Tearing the paper away with as much care as he could, Chanyeol soon found himself holding a sleek black box with a set of new handkerchiefs inside. They were well-made, close enough to the type that he had. The author had laughed as he presumed it alluded to the fact that he had ended up offering Kyungsoo so many of his own over a number of occasions. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,” he told his companion who was watching his unboxing with keen eyes, “I will try and keep these ones for myself.”

Kyungsoo looked excited as his present reveal followed. Chanyeol leaned across the table, eyes closely narrowed at the singer’s expression as he followed its shifts with each sheet of wrapping tissue removed. Eventually the centrepiece was revealed to be a calfskin notebook — a sister item of the journals that Chanyeol used for his own private writing. Naturally, it also came with a set of sturdy pens. 

“Chanyeol—" Kyungsoo murmured, admiring the object as his fingers rubbed warily at the coarse brown skin, “I don’t think I can write anything worthy of a book and pen so lavish. Thank you. That’s so thoughtful.” 

“Nonsense,” the author mused, before he added a tender, “Promise me that you will take care over Christmas. You can always write to me otherwise.” The severity of his expression softened as he watched Kyungsoo hold his gift close with the fondest expression.

“Only if you promise that you’ll use those handkerchiefs for yourself.”

“Done.”

They shook firmly on it with warm smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

The next day passed quickly and Chanyeol soon found himself on a lengthy 4½ hour rail journey home. 

To pass the time, he decided to work on his recent writing project. With a carriage to himself, the author rested his back against the comfortable cushioned chair and placed his notebook flat against his lap. He lit a cigarette, clamped it between his lips before smoothing his hand over the spine of the book. He then held it steady with one hand as the other dabbed the tip of his pen against the paper. 

For no reason in particular, Chanyeol traced the pen around the title of the piece in a passive sort of trance, emboldening the single syllable with a black shadow.

_BLUE_

The collection was called _Blue_ after the work’s inaugural piece- which as of now, twelve days after its creation, was being supported by five other unedited pieces.

And counting.

Today’s piece comprised of what many of the other pieces had been about. The stunning center of the author’s vision that had exerted its dominance with such gravity that Chanyeol had been unable to write or think about anything else.

It was all about that extraordinary colour. 

Blue; like the petals.

Like the wonderful, broken, man who carried them. 

 

 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: omg guys they’re falling in love (at least pcy is) and it is so special aaaaah what a nice change not to write exes for a change ahah!
> 
> ok some notes so this story will have enduring laysoo bc ksoo is bonafide in love with him and i am going to torment my soul by writing a love story knowing this is all merry in the background (but this will end ult with chansoo but until then hahahahaha pain)
> 
> in terms of the writing im really shocked at how non-angsty it has been, for me, i guess its bc we are going to focus on watching pcy fall in love so ofc all of ksoos good qualities will be accentuated— at least for now. i can attest that this will probably make it so much sadder in the future but heyho
> 
> my brain is constantly plotplotplotting so we will see where the story goes - this story is so interesting to me c: which is bad as i really can see it going over 50k so prepare those forehead flicks!
> 
> ok i shall depart! thanks so much for reading and for the kind words <3 be well lovely exo-l!


	3. Auld Lang Syne

*

 

Christmas was a celebratory time associated with the mingling scents of cooked cinnamon and fresh champagne. 

For those that indulged in the upper circles of city society, the sets of parties held at the Park family manor each year were just as symbolic. They were hosted in immaculate surroundings in the Northern country: extensive vistas of snow-capped fields, kneeling to the might of tall mountain peaks. It was enchanting, _mystical_ , with an air of Nordic folklore. Each night swirls of colourful christmas lights welcomed fleets of cars and limousines, blinking in rhythm to an immutable song. 

As a prominent member of the host family, Chanyeol was inclined to attend every gathering. There wasn’t a single figure within the parlour rooms of the grand house who didn’t demand for an audience with the successful city writer, even if it was only to compliment him or try their luck at teasing out a spoiler for his upcoming publication. Being a gracious and experienced host, he was happy to entertain them but he had always used his holidays as a way to bond with the family members he rarely had time to see during his busy work months. 

His favourites were his niece and his two nephews. During the year, their mother, his brother’s wife, took them away on extensive boat trips in the Far East where the weather was always spoiled by sunshine. This made him value the few weeks of holidays they were able to spend together even more.

Tonight’s festivities were no different from the previous -- aside from the style of canapes which were game-themed.

“Hyewonnie, say hello to Uncle Junmyeon! And your future beau, little Dani!” 

“Hiyaa!”

 

Park Hyewon, the youngest of his brother’s children, reached out energetically for Junmyeon’s dozing nephew. She was dressed in a smooth velvet red ruffle dress, matching perfectly with Chanyeol’s wine-coloured suit. They had been greeting guests as a pair all evening, gaining endless showers of adoration for their holiday-inspired ensembles. Hyewon was barely three years old and already she judged and spoke like a seasoned debutante, whispering observations into her uncle’s ears about the people they met in the parlour. _She’s got a mean eyebrow!_ \-- _Hyewonnie!_ \-- _It’s true!_

On the other hand, little Daniel, Junmyeon’s nephew was barely three months old. He was snuggled in a white blanket that accentuated the fairness of his features.

“Sorry Hyewon!” Junmyeon said, greeting the little girl with a small pat on her carefully styled hair, “Dani is very tired so he won’t be able to greet you tonight. Is that okay?” 

Hyewon answered him with a polite nod. Chanyeol beamed proudly before approaching his friend and shaking his free hand. The two men then stepped back and regarded each other with complementing looks of bemusement and awe.

“You look fatherly, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol said first, as the other man laughed softly in return.

“Says you! Matching outfits as well? Doesn’t Chanho feel insecure?”

“Certainly not. You know my brother. He’s not bothered by anything unless it’s about sports.”

His brother had most likely secured himself in a remote spot by the gentleman’s side of the room -- probably laughing himself breathless over something related to hunting. His two little boys, Hyewon’s older brothers, were undoubtedly wrapped around his ankles, chaining him to the ground. 

“.... also everybody here knows little Hyewon’s too pretty to be from _me_ ,” cooed Chanyeol as the little girl rested her weary head on his shoulder.

“You’re sweet.” Junmyeon remarked.

“And you! My friend. Again. You really look like…”

Junmyeon laughed again. “Indeed. My bachelorhood is at its precipice,” he said, imitating a sigh as he placed a kiss on the infant’s forehead, “I foresee a hoard of women lining up at my office at 9am tomorrow--”

The younger man rolled his eyes.

“You wish.” 

Junmyeon smiled broadly. 

“I do. And I also wish that I’d come sooner. The house looks more divine each year.”

“It’s all Mama. She even employed a team to help her this year.”

“I can see the difference.” 

They jointly moved their attention to the wonderful Christmas tree that acted as the centerpiece for the ballroom. This year his mother had settled for a traditional Douglas Fir; and it was decorated with an assortment of imported decorations inferring the theme of _crystal_ and snow. The most eye-catching of which happened to be the sprinkling of artificial snowflakes on the wreaths that spanned the tall spectacle of an ornament. The flakes glittered beneath the sharp white of the chandelier; eternal and beautiful, lending the room a fairytale-like quality. 

As the song transitioned into one with a higher tempo, Junmyeon suggested that they both moved towards the large crackling fireplace by the quieter side of the room. Hyewon was already asleep on Chanyeol’s shoulder by the time they settled against the seated balcony. This spot afforded them a distant but sweeping view of the adjoining space and its clusters of figures. Occasionally, one would catch their eye and a figure would come and greet them but they always retreated once they spied the dozing children they held. 

Chanyeol appreciated this moment of peace. It was always like this whenever he returned. Sure, he left the city to escape the mania -- but home always welcomed him back with its own brand of chaos. A troublesome type that was overwhelming in its own right and he always seemed to forget the moment he returned to the city. 

But he loved it of course. There was no chaos like the one found within a family. 

Shutting his own weary eyes and resting it against the wall behind him, the author spent a few moments enjoying the droll rhythm of the band’s song. He probably would’ve fallen asleep too had he not felt the surprising sensation of Junmyeon’s warm breath against his ear,

“He’s here.” 

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Chanyeol opened his eyes and shot an uninterested look at the crowd. For a few seconds there was nothing, just the same stage with the same colourless cluster -- but it would all break the moment he saw _him_. He was rightfully placed at the centre of the room, beaming - with a hand on someone else’s arm as he tossed his head back to laugh, letting the shower of chandelier lights fall on him like a holy sight. 

_Baekhyun_ , his companion’s lips shaped, _Baekhyun!_

The author’s lips mimicked the motions, mystified. He felt Hyewon stir as he prepared to leave his seat -- only to be held back by Junmyeon’s hand gripping his arm.

“Don’t go unless you have something to say,” was his friend’s gentle advice.

With that in mind, the author made the decision not to greet him. He sat back down and stared tensely atl the figure until he was swallowed up by the crowd that rapidly gathered to dance the next waltz. 

This was how Chanyeol saw Byun Baekhyun for the first and last time that year. The year in which _A Tender Love_ was certified as his commercial best-seller and critically his best-reviewed work. 

The book that Chanyeol had written about him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first train from the suburbs entering the city after the winter holidays was overwhelmed with people charged to return to their city work. Chanyeol took the first train with this initial quarter of the population, keen to return to the rhythm of the life he knew best. 

His apartment was kept neat for him during his absence. The sight of a telegram from Do Kyungsoo wishing him a happy holidays didn’t go amiss. He replied as soon as he could, keen to reconnect after a few weeks of separation. Whilst the writer was sure that the singer hadn’t spared him a single thought over the winter break, he couldn’t say the same for himself. Hours spent at his grandfather’s library, encircled by the company of books that had nurtured him as an adolescent, brought his thoughts to wander readily back to Kyungsoo -- to the faraway city -- and the story he had pledged to write for him.

His own private anthology, _Blue_ , also became a recipient of his nurturing. The amount of pieces he’d written had doubled to ten. They remained unedited, short, with little critical integrity, but he liked them that way. He liked the freedom of saying words where they could be said; where he wouldn’t have to consider the emotion of an audience because there wasn’t one. There was only himself. And it turned out that for this project, he was easily satisfied.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They decided to meet at one of Chanyeol’s favourite spots in the city: the cathedral and the adjoining natural park. The afternoon was unsurprisingly marked with wintry conditions but the escaping beams of sunlight through the thick clouds made it seem spring-like and pleasant. Kyungsoo had arrived first -- early as usual. They greeted each other with an embrace. Chanyeol hadn’t expected it but he fell into the gesture easily, dark eyes alighting with a tenderness as Kyungsoo stepped back and he was able to glimpse his face again.

They had barely been apart. A single beat in the lengthy song of their lives; but Chanyeol realised then that he had missed Kyungsoo terribly. There was just a quality about him which he’d absented to find in the many hundreds he must have met over Christmas. A sense of _calm_ ; the unassuming sort that never demanded anything from him aside from what he was willing to share. And for someone with time as coveted as the author, it made for a refreshing type of company.

“Come, let’s walk.” Kyungsoo said with a smile as he looked up at him, “You have to tell me about your holidays.”

“My holidays?” Chanyeol wrinkled his nose. “There’s not much to tell.” 

“Tell me anyway. I heard the Northern county parties were particularly great this year.” 

“Oh? Well, if you insist.” 

“I insist. I totally insist.” 

Obliging to the request, if only out of politeness, the writer indulged his friend with the superficial details of his time away. He spoke well of his growing nieces and nephews, the good health of his family business, and a few drunken speeches that occurred when the champagne flowed too liberally down one end of the table. The stories took them past a quarter of the long walking trail. A smooth maze-like path outlined by expanses of wet grass and gangly-limbed trees that clung to each other in a scrum.

To finish the next quarter, Chanyeol took Kyungsoo through his experience of the night he was re-acquainted with Byun Baekhyun. He spoke of the moment -- or rather the _lack_ of it -- as his one serious relationship appeared and disappeared from his life just like that. Fleeting; like the crushed snow beneath their feet in the daytime. 

“Tell me about him,” Kyungsoo said as they turned a corner, “I want to hear about him and you. I want to understand why you’re so hurt.” 

“I’m not hurt.” Chanyeol defended.

This prompted the singer to smile. “Tell me the story, Chanyeol.” 

After sighing, Chanyeol launched into the tale with restrained discomfort. He swept quickly through their background -- how he’d grown up with Byun Baekhyun, practically hip-to-hip. They had attended the same schools, had the same friends, which entwined their lives so closely that he could’ve been plucked out of his own life and put into Baekhyun’s and he would not be able to tell the difference until lunchtime. 

“ _We adored each other. I couldn’t picture a life where he wasn’t by my side because he was always there. He was as much of a constant in my life as my other friends. Junmyeon. Sehun. Jongin. When we were teenagers, he confessed that he loved me. I said it back. I loved him too. Why wouldn’t I? We had always been the same._ ”

Despite the undeniable mirroring in their existences, there were clear differences between them, dictated by two central elements: Chanyeol’s overriding passion for his writing and Baekhyun’s passion for _him_.

“ _During college, I… fooled around as college boys often do. Baekhyun was brokenhearted. We fought always. It was a rough time… Then one night, it came to an end. I said things. He said things. He said cruel things. Things I’d never imagine him saying. Things he knew that would hurt me, stab me. I couldn’t believe how cruel he was. I couldn’t believe the things I said back.”_

This confrontation created a lasting rift; one they had yet to surpass. 

“ _I was furious with him. I loved him. He said he loved me. How could he be so mindless? When I was twenty-four, I found out that he had found a partner in someone else. He’s been with them ever since. Everyone thought I would be happy but I didn’t find peace. Instead of disbelief, I started to feel angry. I resented him and his happiness -- enough that I wrote a book about him. A book that took so much out of me that I was in pieces by the time I finished it.”_

Chanyeol fell quiet as they reached the end of the trail. He looked at his companion with a heavy expression.

“You wrote _A Tender Love_ about you and your former love?” Kyungsoo asked, biting his lower lip in thought before murmuring a quieter, “I guess that makes sense now. It’s definitely your best piece.”

This stole a laugh out of the taller man as he continued his explanation,

“I wrote it with the intention of resolving my broken heart, only to realise through the process that our disaster was my doing. Well. Not all of it. But I had broken _him_ first. He wanted a love that I couldn’t provide yet. But I was cruel and lied to him.. made him hope… and I stripped away his rights to be loved as much as he deserved. I was _unbelievably_ cruel and realising that I could be that way… I despise _A Tender Love_ to this day because of it. Seeing him. Seeing that book reminds me too plainly of my flaws.”

It was a funny sort of justice: to create something he felt a fundamental need to hate but also learn a great deal from. 

“What did he say to you… that night you fought?” Kyungsoo asked.

“Oh you know.” Chanyeol pocketed his hands, looking down at his feet as he realised that he was glaring, “That he hated me. That I was _unloveable_. That I couldn’t love because I was too self-centred.”

“Well… are you?”

“My book certainly told me so.” 

The writer placed a cigarette between his lips and inhaled deeply. When he looked up again, he realised that they had found themselves at the end of the trail and directly across the old crumbling cathedral. It was a vision of strength within the frame of the grey and wet horizon. He asked Kyungsoo courteously if he minded if he smoked. 

“Go ahead,” Kyungsoo answered before asking, “Do you still love him?”

“I never loved him in the same way he loved me.” Chanyeol said as he lit the cigarette and drew a breath, “But I miss him as a friend. He was a real nice guy. Even when I met him again… he told me I should find someone for myself.” 

It had been a winter’s day just like this one. They had been stood outside the restaurant after having lunch in an Italian kitchen as a group of old school friends. Baekhyun had held onto his arm, offered the same warm and friendly smile he was known for -- and with no hint of resentment pronounced the words, _I hope you find what you’re looking for, Chanyeol._

Only now did the author realise that by saying those words, Baekhyun had unequivocally closed his heart and made his peace with their past. An invitation which he should have accepted and pursued for his own closure. 

“Well,” Kyungsoo began, breaking the author’s thoughts, “It’s really not easy finding someone. Especially after being told you’re self-centred and unloveable.”

There was no doubt that Kyungsoo was trying to cheer him up. Chanyeol couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s true. It’s not.” He answered sadly, “I’ll admit that I’ve struggled.” 

His companion grinned as they exchanged a long warm glance. 

“ _To truly love, it takes a soul, a heart and a brain with a few missing nerves. Most people are missing at least one.”_ Kyungsoo narrated as they walked ahead past the cathedral. 

“Where is that from?” questioned the author.

“You know it’s from you,” laughed Kyungsoo, quoting straight from his bestseller. 

“God. How embittered do I sound.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.” 

The bench they chose to rest on was dew-glazed. Chanyeol took the seat first before beckoning for the other to join him. The cathedral appeared even larger from their vantage point. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was undoubtedly one of his favourite features of the West Square. An old relic of colonisation. No city was a city without a good cathedral in his opinion. 

“Here, Kyungsoo watch.” 

Chanyeol shaped his fingers into a diamond and hovered it along the skyline. His companion watched his actions with a curious smile before copying him with his own gloved fingers. 

“It’s a writer’s secret,” the author explained, “It is my way of narrowing things down to a fine detail so I may be able to describe things that you might not see from a single glance. For example, at first glance, this cathedral is a beautiful period piece. But through the diamond, I can see that it’s crumbling. Destitute. A little… _ugly_ really.” 

The writer narrowed his eyes as he lowered his fingers to assess the people that passed by, who barely spared the cathedral an ounce of attention. One pair appeared to be in a heated discussion; another was a father passing by with his two young children; and a few metres away from the grand doors, unashamed in their proximity to the holy building, was a couple locked in a passionate embrace. 

As they lifted their heads to enable their lips to touch, Chanyeol allowed his fingers and his focus to fall away resignedly. Kyungsoo on the other hand continued to spy through the space between his hands. Smiling to himself, he hovered it around like a photographer with an invisible camera. With a quick turn he turned to Chanyeol and fixated the diamond on him -- grinning as the author shied away from his vision. 

“You won’t like what you see if you look too closely,” Chanyeol warned with a smile. 

Kyungsoo’s cheeks flushed a light red as he returned his hands to his lap.

“Well I prefer taking things at face value anyway,” Kyungsoo mused, “I don’t think you need to look that closely at things to know what they’re about. Providing that you’re not writing a book, of course.” 

“True. But you probably need it with people.” 

The singer shook his head. “No I don’t think so,” he replied confidently, “I think, with people, you need to give them the chance to show themselves to you before you spare any kind of judgement on them.” 

The thought lingered as a loud cry resonated from the distance. The pair whom had been embracing and liplocking across the cathedral were now chasing each other across the field, shrieking in joy as they raced, dividing the flocks of birds feeding on the grass. Chanyeol watched them as he rid himself of the cigarette. If he looked closer at them, perhaps he would’ve seen the cracks that he always seemed to find in joyful things but he didn’t. He simply watched as the pair disappeared through the curve of the trail, landing with their arms around each other. 

“I think you should have spoken to him.” Kyungsoo said, “To Baekhyun.” 

“And said what?” Chanyeol asked, almost accusatory.

Their gazes met. The singer smiled, loosening the tension. He reached across and patted Chanyeol’s large hand comfortingly.

“Whatever great unspeakable thing you couldn’t tell him then so you felt compelled to write a whole damn bestseller about it.”

The author laughed loudly, almost falling off his seat as he pushed against the other’s arm playfully.

“You’re terrible,” recovered the writer as he wiped his eyes before gesturing to the streets visible from where they were sitting, “I think you owe me a dinner.” 

Mentioning the approaching meal stirred within Kyungsoo an immediate reminder of time. 

He appeared panicked as he regarded his watch and sprung to his feet, “Oh-- Chanyeol. I can’t. I’m sorry. But I have a lesson to teach.”

“Teach?” Chanyeol said as his eyes widened, “You-- teach?” 

“Yes. I’m a singing teacher. Didn’t I mention it before? I have to go home now.” 

He had— but only in passing. It had never been much of the conversation center which it should have been. The author became curious about it all and he raised from his bench with blatant interest.

“Should I take you?”

The suggestion prompted the smaller man to laugh amusedly.

“I am perfectly capable of walking alone, Chanyeol.”

“Ah. Yes, yes. Of course you are.” 

They were both on their feet now. The farewell fizzed on the edge of Chanyeol’s lips. He bit his lip in a show of reluctance -- but found it broadening, widening, into the largest of smiles as Kyungsoo took him by surprise by suddenly offering him an arm. 

“Come. Why don’t you sit in? You never know you might learn something.” 

“No doubt about it!” announced the writer cheerily as he took Kyungsoo’s arm and lowered himself rightly to his height by bending his knees.

Kyungsoo shoved him to the side.

“Don’t make me regret inviting you.”

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

They walked just like that out of the park and away from the cathedral, arm-in-arm. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It soon became obvious to Chanyeol that he had totally underestimated how established Kyungsoo was as a singer. In terms of his experience and academic training, he was well-decorated and it was celebrated in the various diplomas and trophies showcased in his modest city apartment. Kyungsoo insisted that they weren’t as impressive as they might seem but Chanyeol was well-acquainted with the elite names within the arts and he recognised many of Kyungsoo’s previous big-name mentors. The singer appeared much younger in the pictures, and his successes were from years that had long passed - but they were meaningful nonetheless. And considering how well-kept they were, it was evident that Kyungsoo still valued them highly. 

In part due to his family troubles, Kyungsoo took himself away from the spotlight and saw teaching as the natural step in which to take his experience. From what Chanyeol gathered, the business was relatively successful due to many of Kyungsoo’s clientele hailing from the wealthy families of the West Square: from a middle-aged debutante seeking a refresher course, to the youngest children of the former city governor. He hosted all his students in his small living room which was constricted further by the large grand piano that occupied three quarters of the existing space. 

“Miss Do, good afternoon.” 

Daehyun, Kyungsoo’s young cousin, was the student for that afternoon. She appeared even more self-conscious in Chanyeol’s presence and squealed unattractively at the prospect of singing for him. But all such girlish graces were swept away the moment Kyungsoo began to play the piano and the girl revealed herself to be a delightful soprano. 

She held the final note of the first aria they were practicing and Chanyeol readied to applaud. But his hands froze mid-motion as her teacher instructed her with a strict but calm voice he hadn’t heard before.

“There is still a tightness here,” Kyungsoo said as Daehyun turned obediently, nodding her head at his words, “You must try and keep your throat relaxed. There is also a tempo change that you struggle with…” 

The lesson ran for forty-five minutes. By the end of it, Daehyun was flushed and massaging her abdomen as one would after a period of strenuous exercise. Chanyeol remained a polite audience and offered what he hoped was helpful encouragement and some light remarks with what he knew about operatic technique which wasn’t much. 

“She did well, didn’t she?” Kyungsoo beamed at his young cousin, reaching for her hand and squeezing it affectionately, “She’s improving each time.”

“Am I?” Daehyun said, “Oh. Kyungsoo! You never say that to me when it’s just the two of us.”

“Well, perhaps you only improved this week.”

“Stop it! You’re so mean sometimes. Tell him he’s mean, Mr. Park!”

“You… oh… I can’t do it.”

“Not you too, Mr. Park!” 

Daehyun left the apartment at sunset -- waved away by laughter from the surprise visitor and a long embrace from Kyungsoo. Chanyeol watched her leave with her chauffeur through the window of the high-rise and found himself confronted with the sight of a much wearier looking Kyungsoo. The smaller man tidied away the sheet music and books into neat piles. Their eyes met and the singer’s expression relaxed, his eyes brightening with ease.

“I hope that didn’t bore you too much,” Kyungsoo said.

“Not at all,” Chanyeol responded as he picked up some of the books across the table and handed it to him, “Daehyun’s a talent, isn’t she?”

“She is.” Kyungsoo accepted the books and guided them into a higher stack in the adjacent study room, “I’ve been teaching her since she was a little girl. She goes to a real theatre school now. I’m helping to prepare her for the entrance exam at _The Amadeo_. Admissions open this summer.” 

“The _Amadeo_?” 

The Amadeo was the most prestigious theatre in the city. The home of the opera. Chanyeol had attended a few times when his Mother was in town but he was far more partial to watching live bands or the pictures.

“Yes,” Kyungsoo said with a smile, before sheepishly turning towards the orderly set of gleaming medals across him, “It was my dream when I was her age. To become a tenor of _The Amadeo._ I may have enchanted her a little when I spoke about it one time.”

He didn’t linger on the statement. The singer turned comfortably away from his achievements, barely clinging onto the smile, as he continued with fixing up the room. The writer eyed him curiously -- unable to remove himself from the way Kyungsoo said the word _dream_ with such passionless resign. It felt sad -- and a little wrong -- when the writer considered the word _dream_ as one of the most beautiful in the dictionary. 

“It is still achievable, isn’t it?” Chanyeol asked him, “You’re still young. You can still train and join the programme.”

Kyungsoo looked at him and in the light, his weary expression turned sickly.

“Not in my current condition.” Kyungsoo answered, his sadness more palpable now as he lowered his head away from the writer’s gaze.

Watching him and understanding how his _condition_ had burdened him, was beyond heartbreaking. Chanyeol took a hesitant step forward as he answered, softening his voice in hopes that he wouldn’t offend. 

“Perhaps not now. But… it’s better not to let go of dreams, Kyungsoo. Without them, it’s very hard to find one’s light in life.” 

His companion finished his cleaning and acknowledged his words with a quiet nod. This left Chanyeol to wonder uncomfortably what sort of effect his sentiments may have had on the other. 

They didn’t speak again until after Kyungsoo offered him a drink of water and cast a knowing look at the swiftly darkening skies. 

“It’s getting dark, Chanyeol. You should get home before it gets colder.” 

“Oh. Of course.” Chanyeol said as he lowered the cup to the table and put on his coat and outer apparel.

Kyungsoo watched him keenly. He took the cup from the table and brushed a few stray lines of fabric from the author’s jacket collar.

“Thank you for spending so much of the day with me. I really enjoyed having you.”

“Thanks. Thanks to you too.” 

 

 

 

Chanyeol walked out of the lobby of the apartment building and was met by the unforgiving face of winter. He sighed loudly. Walking ahead to the pedestrian crossing, the writer was already a quarter of the distance when he found himself freezing at the sound of his name being shouted loudly from above him—

“PARK CHANYEOL!” 

He looked up to find Kyungsoo halfway-sprung out of his parlour window. The writer waved in greeting, confused as to the sudden interruption, but his answer was revealed when something floated down to him -- a surge of dark fabric which fell in elegant waves from the window, like the beating of a large seabird’s wing. 

Chanyeol plucked the item from the air as soon as he could reach it. It was a thick winter scarf -- cashmere in texture and light grey in colour. 

“Keep warm!” was Kyungsoo’s remark as he grinned from above, “Return it to me next time!”

The writer quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck, ensuring that the singer would be able to see. It was his; and it felt so unbelievably gratifying to have it. It smelled like him too. 

“Thank you!” he yelled back with a smile, “I will!”

They waved at each other again, lightening whatever heavy airs that may have grown between them from the events of the afternoon. 

 

 

 

The weight of Kyungsoo’s perfect smile, noticeably heavy on Chanyeol’s heart, branded itself into his thoughts for the rest of his evening. When the author returned home, he drafted a short piece titled _The Winter Tenor_ \-- and invited Sehun over for dinner. He spoke then of Kyungsoo in the natural pause that sat between their daily discussions of politics and the liberal arts. He talked about the scarf he now possessed, offered to him in the winter dim, now secured over a coat rack beside his many others.

“You sound fond of him,” retorted his friend in a voice thick with curiosity as their eyes met over wine and biscuits, “Should I feel threatened?” 

Chanyeol laughed. “You’re too protective. I’m older than you, have you forgotten that?” 

“I think it’s you that has forgotten.” The journalist teased, “You talk like a little boy with a _crush_ on the pastor’s daughter! -- was it you that had a crush on her? Or was it Jongin? It couldn’t be Junmyeon. She was younger than him. He’s partial to the mature woman…”

“It was me.” The writer said, “And Jongin. She had a beautiful smile. But a crush? I am _too old_ for crushes. Don’t be ridiculous.”

A crush was a depthless sort of feeling. Chanyeol was convinced that his own were much deeper on account of him being _older_. 

“I’m not being critical. I think it’s healthy to have these harmless infatuations with people.” Sehun said with a smirk, “But if you’re writing again then I will probably worry-- oh you are? My _god_ you are? Wow. Park Chanyeol, you are something else…” 

“Don’t tell Junmyeon. Keep it hush. I can’t have him knowing. He’ll get too excited.” Chanyeol huffed as he swirled the wine in his glass -- the color of it, reminding him of the washed colour of Kyungsoo’s apartment walls. 

“Have you got a plot? A character at least? Can you share something with me? Pretty please. My colleague in _Lifestyle & Culture_ has been pleading with me everyday.”

Chanyeol rolled his eyes, laughing, as Sehun reached for his hands and pleaded with him. 

“Shut up you.” The author dismissed, flicking his junior on the forehead, “This is… a private project.”

“Is it… love letters?”

“Oh Sehun, I swear to Saint Peter -- I’ll kick you out of my apartment.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Winter continued. And Chanyeol’s feelings for Kyungsoo, nameless for a time, flourished the more time they spent together. And time together; they _spent_. 

In between Chanyeol’s stifling personal schedules, a congestion of endless social events and interviews, they found the hours to dine and talk freely about the most inane of topics: from the newest motion picture to old and funny anecdotes about friends. Whilst in between Kyungsoo’s singing lessons, Chanyeol was able to steal a phone-call, a telegram, a recipe card exchange -- anything and everything, he made himself available to all.

They met in a host of places -- from the park, at a cafe midway from their separate city locations, and most frequently in Chanyeol’s apartment because Kyungsoo liked talking about the future book that the author would be writing for him.

In time, it became clear to him that even his most cherished perks within his glamorous life, began to suffer beneath the temper of his affections for the singer. 

Grey winter weeks in January had never passed as quickly or awesomely for the author. Even on the coldest day of the year, when the very thought of going outside was dispiriting, Chanyeol felt like the luckiest man in the city when Kyungsoo took his hands into his own and rubbed them between the fabric of his thick gloves. He did the same to Chanyeol’s cheeks which had apparently been blanched by the subzero temperature. _How sweet you look,_ Kyungsoo had commented as the author blushed rose in his grasp, _Do you know how sweet you look? You must know._ Then they sat together, until the moon was high and round, and had wonderful coffee. 

It was one the most memorable days he’d ever had in his life.

Towards the end of that same month, when Chanyeol’s calendar finally cleared, Kyungsoo posed an invitation for them to have dinner at his apartment for a change. Chanyeol was ecstatic to go and came dressed in Sunday’s best, wine at hand. When the door opened and they met each other, a notable pause passed as they took in each other’s appearances. Kyungsoo was in a fitted white dinner shirt and black slacks, accentuating the strengths of his well-kept form, with his dark hair styled neatly upwards.

“I figured you would dress up so I did too,” Kyungsoo said with a breathy laugh before he welcomed him with a friendly smile and the usual companionable embrace.

Pleasant music was already playing inside but it was the sublime smell of cooking that truly captured Chanyeol’s attention. 

“You’re cooking for me?” the author said in wonder as he followed his sensory urges to the kitchen where an already neat worktop was presented.

“Of course,” Kyungsoo answered as he urged Chanyeol to remove his coat for him to take, “I don’t see why I’d ask you to come here and not cook for you.”

“Well, you’re at my apartment all the time and I never--”

“It’s _fine_ ,” the singer commented as he walked out of the room, “I wanted to do this.”

Their roasted dinner was enjoyable and their conversation even more so. Chanyeol spoke happily about the week that had passed -- the various acquaintances he’d made, the progress of certain projects that they had discussed previously. It wouldn’t occur to him that he had spoken far too much for far too long until he found himself staring Kyungsoo directly in the eye and realising that he’d barely heard him speak. 

“I talk too much, I’m sorry. Did I already say your cooking was delicious? It really is.” 

“No, no! It’s fine. You’re fine,” Kyungsoo reassured him, “and thanks. You did say it. About… seven times already?” 

“I did? Ah.” Chanyeol grimaced, “Well, it really is…” 

“ _Eight_ ,” Kyungsoo interjected, before smiling at the upset expression on the author’s face, “But I was the one asking the questions. It’s really my fault for being so curious.”

It was typical of his companion to be unnecessarily polite like this.

“No. No. You know I’m like this. You really must tire of hearing from me, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol said as he shook his head at himself, “Even _I_ tire of myself.” 

The expression slipped before Chanyeol got the chance to properly determine whether that had been the right course to veer the conversation. After all, if Kyungsoo asserted that he was tired of him-- well the author was sure that he would be heartbroken and that was that.

“No!” But the reaction he received was quite the opposite-- “It’s not like that at all. If anything Chanyeol, I’m always conscious that I might bore you. You must have the best company out there. So many people in the city must be wanting these hours from you. In the _world_ even! And you’re giving it to _me_!”

The proposition was so incredulous that it made Chanyeol laugh for a few moments, leaving his companion in a state of bemusement. “Kyungsoo,” the author began, “You have no idea how much I look forward to seeing you. It’s my friends in fact who are bored of _me_ talking about you!” 

Kyungsoo’s manner appeared unmoved by the admission but his cheeks blushed warmly as he glanced down at his food with a smile. 

“I’ve embarrassed you,” was Chanyeol’s awkward rejoinder, after a moment of reflection, “I’m sorry. Can we go back and talk about something else? A new picture you’ve seen? Maybe there’s a new song you’d like to recommend?”

“Actually, there is something.” Kyungsoo looked at him, and then down at the finished plates across them, “I’d like you to teach me how to write.” 

 

 

 

 

Sat adjacent to the grand piano in the living room, the pair arranged themselves comfortably on opposing ends of the sofa with a pen and notebook on their lap. Kyungsoo’s book, much to Chanyeol’s delight, was the one he had gifted him over Christmas-- still unused and glossy. 

Now Chanyeol had never instructed anyone to write before. He had given advice freely to budding writers many times but to teach someone from the very beginning, from seemingly _nothing_ , was as foreign to him as it was for Kyungsoo as the eager new student. It was challenging to think about where to begin because writing was as natural to Chanyeol as breathing. His roots within the art had become so deeply buried into his being that he couldn’t even remember how or when it had started -- only that he became himself once it came to be.

“Writing... is very personal. It’s all about communicating a message using the best tool in the world: language.” Chanyeol began before laughing at Kyungsoo’s overly keen expression, “Don’t look at me so passionately. I don’t think I can be of much help-- it is better if you write something first and we go from there.”

“What should I write?” Kyungsoo asked in a completely serious tone.

“Anything at all.” Chanyeol looked around, “Maybe something about a possession of yours. Make a story out of it.”

“A real story?”

“It doesn’t have to be. Just write… what you think writing should be like. So I may get an idea of where you are.” 

Kyungsoo delved into the task with little direction and showcased his humor in the small verse he wrote about a portrait of a Marseille beach which he kept safe in his bedroom. 

 

_oh what a beautiful beach it must be,  
To hang in my bedroom so happily,  
Although it may seem coarse,  
I’m glad my aunt had that divorce -- _

 

Curious to view the work himself, Chanyeol followed Kyungsoo into his bedroom and they viewed the painting from the best place: on the edge of his king-sized bed. The painting resembled the late 19th century impressionist style and depicted a beautiful landscape of a rolling green hillside with white dashes of paint to resemble the sizzle of sea foam on the sand.

“My aunt made my uncle believe it was a real Monet when she gave it to him as a birthday gift.” Kyungsoo said, leaning across to the author with a cheeky smile, “When they divorced, she told him the truth and he threw it out onto the patio. I couldn’t bear to see it in the garbage even if it’s a fake so I just took it one day.” 

“I can’t blame you. It’s very beautifully painted.” Chanyeol commented.

Kyungsoo grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke dreamily, “I look at it and think instantly of summer, of beaches, and blue skies…the sweet roar of the seawater…” he shut his eyes momentarily, “Even the thought of it gives me such joy…” 

“Ah, so winter isn’t to your liking?” queried the writer as Kyungsoo opened his eyes wide, the same smile lingering on his lips.

“Not really.” Kyungsoo answered, “Not until recently.” 

“Oh?” Chanyeol arched an eyebrow, “What happened recently?”

“You. I guess.”

The response surprised him. Chanyeol didn’t even have the chance to fully understand his as it slipped through his own lips with every sense of disbelief -- 

“Me?”

“You,” was the confident confirmation. 

The singer’s eyes were firmly on his. It had been a while since Chanyeol had looked into someone’s eyes so deeply, so _close_ , and this birthed a moment when they almost seemed _too close_ and everything grew too focused but he forced himself to be present. He had to look-- and most importantly he had to _feel_ , because at such an imminent proximity to someone, it was easy to believe that it was impossible to be deceived. 

Kyungsoo’s eyes lowered for a moment. When they raised again, they were glowing like the surface of newly cracked glass. They were his tears - and Chanyeol was shocked to see them. 

“What’s wrong?” the author asked, sensing the urge to move closer as in the distant background, the soft dinner music continued to play. The tune was melancholy and slow. 

“I know that you pity me because of what I have…” Kyungsoo began, steady as the first teardrop slid from the corner of his right eye, “But you have been such a good friend to me. I can’t help but wonder what I’ve done to make you like this… because the city… the world.. we live in can often feel so inescapably cold and empty… and so having someone like _you_ take even the smallest interest in me and my story…” 

The singer paused as he smiled with unmistakable affection and feeling— 

“It has made me feel like a person that matters… and I can’t remember the last time that I’ve felt like that.” 

“Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol interrupted, as he swiped the stray teardrop away from the other’s cheek with a trembling thumb, “This is so much more than just about… pity. So much more…”

He let his hand fall away the instance he sensed Kyungsoo stiffen beneath his touch. The author prepared to apologise only to be shocked into silence by Kyungsoo planting his own warm hand on his cheek in return. It was different to how he’d touched him before -- a distinction magnified by the unreadable way in which he looked at him. 

It was a look -- a message -- that crackled with the agony of words and emotions disconnected -- of a gratitude that Chanyeol hadn’t yet begun to comprehend. It was hard to interpret it all there and then: when everything felt like it could either mean nothing or _everything_. 

“You can have the whole world at your feet and… still feel like you don’t really matter.” The author whispered, watching as the other’s gaze traced the frame of his face, “I’m afraid I’m nothing special.”

“Then nobody wins,” Kyungsoo said sadly as his fingers trailed against Chanyeol’s temple.

The author leaned against the touch playfully. 

“Nobody needs the whole world. Sometimes just one person is enough.” Chanyeol murmured— before he laughed, humorless -- “But you… would know that already. Sorry. I didn’t-” 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyungsoo’s finger brushed his nose on purpose which prompted the smaller man to break out into a fond smile. His eyes softened as he wiped his tears away with his sleeve, enlarging them in the dark. 

“I think it’s time for coffee,” he said as he returned to his feet.

Chanyeol smiled in his direction and offered him a nod. He walked out of the room and led the way to the dinner table. He sat in silence with his own loud thoughts in recovery for a few minutes before registering that Kyungsoo hadn’t followed him. Curious and concerned, he made his way back and stood outside the closed bedroom door. 

He lifted a fist -- and shaped his lips to call his name -- only to find all of his actions dissolving at the palpable sound of _coughing_ behind the door. 

It went on for a handful of agonising minutes. And then: silence.

The author acknowledged the situation with a blank expression and returned to his seat. With the dinner music as his companion, he waited patiently for his host to return. Kyungsoo did so, all smiles and apologies, with the only hints of his demise reduced to the faint redness on his face and the practiced way he rubbed circles over his upper chest as he prepared their drinks. 

The night ended shortly after that. The author stood beneath Kyungsoo’s window and offered him his usual mix of polite waves and kind words from the empty street. Alone, he wandered home, tossed between a constant state of sobriety and drunkenness as one fleeting thought slipped into another. They felt particularly heavy that night. He counted the lampposts as he passed them. He must have appeared delirious in the moonlight as he swayed.

_Sometimes, one person is enough._

By the tenth lamppost, he had relinquished all confidence in his capacity to return home and hailed the next cab.

_Sometimes, one person is enough._

As he slouched dazedly on his ride, the empty streets barely visible past his window, he thought momentarily of Baekhyun. He thought of that night when it all came to the front and the other man had cried at his feet and pleaded for him not to leave. The author felt his heart sink with shame as he remembered how Baekhyun’s grip on his clothes left creases he wasn’t able to rid of with his own efforts. 

It was there, in that fractured state of thinking, that Chanyeol realised that sometimes one person was indeed enough -- but in most cases, they weren’t. And in these broken stories, being the _loved_ one, the one who offered enough and plenty, was undoubtedly a wonderful state to be. 

But what of the _insufficient_ ones? Those unlucky beloved -- who even if they auctioned their own souls away would never be able to give enough for the love they craved.

What hope was there for them?

Chanyeol let the question wash over his thoughts until he was left with a dull heat in the back of his head. He fell asleep to the thought of Kyungsoo smiling; of his voice and his comforting words; and the thought of whether when his lover had left him, he’d held on to his arm just as tightly as Baekhyun had.

 

 

 

 

 

-
    
    
    **TELEGRAM RECEIVED at:
    
              612 BLOOMING DAY APT, WSQUARE, 20-1-1959
                              MR. PARK CHANYEOL,**
    
        Good morning, i hope you are well,
    Thanks for last night it was certainly swell,
    For even though the night was cold and my poetry austere,
    I truly enjoyed having you here.
    
    How am I doing?
                               **MR. DO KYUNGSOO**
    

-

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (10:35)**
    
    
    
           **CHANYEOL**
             [ _laughs_ ]  
             Ah. Kyungsoo. What a morning present.
    
    
              **KYUNGSOO**
                That bad huh?
                 [ _laughs_ ]  
            I really need more lessons.
             My writing is atrocious.
    
    
           **CHANYEOL**
            It’s fine. It’s a learning process.
            Don’t worry.
           I’ll give them to you. 
    
    
    
              **KYUNGSOO**
                Really? Oh. You don’t have to. 
    
    
           **CHANYEOL**
           [ _pause_ ]
    
    
               **KYUNGSOO**
                Chanyeol? 
     
    
          **CHANYEOL**
           Sorry. I was reviewing my calendar.
          
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
             -- Chanyeol.
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
           Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I must sound crazy.
           I-- 
           I meant what I said last night. 
           I do enjoy your company so much. 
    
    
     **KYUNGSOO**
              [ _pause_ ]      
           I do too and
             I will take any day you give me.
          This is… truly an honour and a pleasure.
    
    
    [ _The line crackles. Interference._ ] 
    **CHANYEOL**
           Then take them all.
           Ha.
           Kyungsoo?
           Kyungsoo? 
    
    
    
           
    
    
      **OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED YOUR CALL
               (10:45)**
    

-

 

They met again a few times for writing purposes.

Kyungsoo showed astonishing enthusiasm for his newfound hobby. He indulged the author with short snippets of prose, the beginnings of poems, and all types of story ideas which he jotted down in the notebook that was rapidly beginning to run out of pages. 

Chanyeol helped him with some critical feedback but soon decided to confine his role to distant encouragement. 

It was obvious to him from the direct way that the singer attacked his projects that there was a story that Kyungsoo wanted to write. And even if he didn’t know it yet, Chanyeol wanted to give him the freedom to do so. 

 

 

“I’m going to be busy the next few weeks,” Chanyeol said to him one afternoon as they stood in Kyungsoo’s kitchen, energising themselves with warm soup, “I want you to keep writing even if I can’t see you.”

“Of course I will.” Kyungsoo said with a smile, “But how should I talk to you if I need your help with something?”

“Telephone,” was Chanyeol’s simple answer, “Any time. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

“Thanks.” A wide grin spread across Kyungsoo’s lips as he held onto the author’s arm and tugged on it lightly, “Thanks so much-- Chanyeol. It’s such a joy learning all about this from you.” 

“Just promise to send me soup if I get unwell whilst I do my media rounds!” Chanyeol teased him back as the singer laughed warmly.

“Any time. Even at midnight. If you need me to make you soup… I will. Now.” 

Kyungsoo raised the silver spoon towards the taller man after scooping out a portion of the hot broth.

“Say ah--!”

 

 

 

 

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (20:00)**
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
      I wish I could write to him. To Yixing.
    
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**  
            You could if you wanted. 
          I wrote a whole book to my past love after all.
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
              That’s true.
             On that note, 
             Did you ever… 
            Well… figure out what you wanted to say to Baekhyun?
    
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**  
                Um. Well. I suppose I did. 
                I’d tell him that I was very sorry. 
               What about you? What would you say.
    
     
           **KYUNGSOO**
             To Yixing? 
    
    
          **CHANYEOL**  
                Yes.
    
    
            **KYUNGSOO**
             I’d say sorry too. 
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**  
              Oh.  I thought you’d say you love him. 
              I think that would give him a lot of strength.
    
    
       **KYUNGSOO**
          I… think he needs to hear my apologies more.
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**  
              Have you thought about how you could tell him that?
    
    
       **KYUNGSOO**
          Not yet.
    
    
           

\--

 

 

 

 

\--

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (17:35)**
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
        Are you okay, Kyungsoo?
    
            
           **KYUNGSOO**  
        Just feeling under the weather. 
          How are you?
    
    
      **CHANYEOL**
            No. 
          Don’t make this about me. 
           How are you.
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**  
                       [ _laughs_ ]  
              Better.
            I think now that you’ve called.
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**
                    Good.
                   So…. you want to hear about my day?
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**  
              Why? Did something happen?
    
                **CHANYEOL**
             So many things. 
            What would you like to hear about first? 
           The duck with the Southern quack?
               Or the streaker in the polo game?
    
    
            **KYUNGSOO**
                 [ _laughs_ ]  
    
    
               **CHANYEOL**
             Choose then!
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
                 Uh… the duck?
    
    
     **CHANYEOL**
             Great choice!
    
    
      **KYUNGSOO**
                 [ _laughs_ ]  
           

-

 

 

 

-

 

\--

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (23:40)**
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
    It’s midnight. We should sleep. Poor operator.
    
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**  
                Yes [ _yawns_ ] 
               We probably should. 
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
                Good night… you drunk.
    
    
          **CHANYEOL**  
                Good niiiiiiight!
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
               [ _laughs_ ]  
    
    
     **CHANYEOL**  
         Will I see you tomorrow? 
        At the Gleasdale’s wedding party?
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
               I...I don’t know. 
           
    
         **CHANYEOL**  
         Please go. I want to s-see you.
          I am so lonely.
    
       
           **KYUNGSOO**
               You’re just drunk. 
               You shouldn’t drink alone. 
               You’re a public figure!
    
    
         **CHANYEOL** 
          Will you forgive anything I say 
           just because ‘m drunk?
    
    
     **KYUNGSOO**
               Yes. Probably… Yes. 
    
       
         **CHANYEOL** 
          Alright. So… let me tell you…  something. 
        Something I should have told you a long time ago.
    
     **KYUNGSOO**
            What? 
    
    
      **CHANYEOL** 
           I… [ _laughs_ ]  I…. 
    
     
    **KYUNGSOO**
            What? Chanyeol… what? 
    
    
      **CHANYEOL** 
           [ _yawning_ ] 
    
    
    **KYUNGSOO**
            Chanyeol… good night. 
    
      
    **CHANYEOL** 
          Good night. 
    
    
    **KYUNGSOO**
           Thank you for calling me.
    
    
    **CHANYEOL** 
          No, thank you for answering. 
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
               [ _laughs_ ]  
              Sleep, Mr. Author. 
              The world awaits. 
    
    
    
    
    
           
    
    
      **OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED YOUR CALL
               (00:10)**
    

\--
    
    
     (00:12--)
    
    
    
    
    **CHANYEOL** 
          Kyungsoo… 
          I… 
         I think… I think I’m falling for you.
          [ _laughs_ ] 
         I really am… 
          [ _laughs_ ] 
         What should I do.
           

\--

 

\--

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (09:40)**
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
     …………..
    
    
    
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
             … ..…. So… 
            I think that might be one thing I could write for Yixing.
            What do you think? 
            Do you think he’ll like it?
    
    **CHANYEOL** 
          I think he’ll love it. 
    
    
      **KYUNGSOO**
               [ _laughs_ ]  
              You’re just saying that.
              Does your head feel better?
              You drank a lot last night.   
              Do you want me to bring over a bowl of soup?
    
    
            **CHANYEOL** 
               Will you really? 
    
    
       **KYUNGSOO**
              Yes. Of course I will. 
    
    
    
    
    

\--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The official end of the author’s month was marked by the marvelous news that a lucrative offer had been made to adapt _A Tender Love_ into a big-budget motion picture. Whilst similar offers had already been posed to him on previous occasions, he had rejected them all on account of his _personal_ misgivings about the story and its origins. 

But in light of his conversation with Kyungsoo that long afternoon by the cathedral, he felt that he had finally made peace with the story. Now, he felt that there was no reason for him to hold it back so selfishly from a world that pined for its story to be told. So when he heard about this new offer, he accepted it instantly. 

Having endured the role of scribing all of Chanyeol’s past rejections, Junmyeon was completely disbelieving of his rapid change of heart. He was only satisfied once the author visited his office and helped him personally survey the contracts. After this, Junmyeon expressed how he could barely contain his joy at the prospect of their agency’s biggest success finally reaching its ultimate spot in the beautiful boulevards of Hollywood. 

“They are so keen for you to write the screenplay, Chanyeol,” gushed the older man as he sighed happily out of the window, wine glass in one hand, “They think it will add so much more -- _prestige_ to the whole project, having the author so closely involved.”

“Prestige?” Chanyeol snorted, spinning around in Junmyeon’s chair, a cigarette slotted between his lips, “By that, I assume you mean profit.”

“That too.” Junmyeon remarked as he turned, still smiling like a cheshire.

“I’ll do it then,” the author continued with a shrug.

“What?” Junmyeon almost giggled from glee -- “Will you really? Wow. So tell me then. What brought on this sudden change? What brought the tide back? It’s so out of the blue. Even for you.” 

“I’ve let go.”

“Let go of what?”

“Of everything.” The cigarette was lifted to the air in a marine’s salute, scenting the tips of the author’s calloused fingertips, “I want to let this part of my life go.”

His words were mysterious but Junmyeon was an old friend. Chanyeol could speak a million riddles and hide his answers in a haystack; and still, Junmyeon would uncover them. It was the emblem of a trusted and loyal companion.

“Then I’m glad,” Junmyeon said as he raised his glass, “To new beginnings.” 

“To _Hollywood_ ,” the author corrected as the other laughed.

The pair remained in this celebratory mood until Sehun walked into the office looking pallid and equally flustered. It wasn’t the cold. This was Chanyeol’s first observation. There was innocence about the way that the cold winds touched a passenger; this was more violent in its hold. Already, the author’s heart began to race, thinking of all the possibilities that the unrevealed badness could materialise into. 

“What’s wrong?” Chanyeol asked as he poured the newcomer a glass of wine, “You look deathly. Are you ill?”

“How was the courthouse?” Junmyeon asked offhandedly, overlooking the author’s initial greeting, “What did they give him?”

“The courthouse?” the author’s hand trembled, wine spilling over the edge of the glass as his concentration lapsed, “What… what were you doing there?” 

“Mr. Zhang,” Junmyeon sipped his drink casually.

Chanyeol’s expression fell. 

“Oh it was awful.” Sehun huffed, taking the wine from Chanyeol and drowning his explanation with a long gulp. 

By the time he was finished, the author’s breaths had grown ragged. The trial -- the conviction -- it had all slipped his mind due to the fullness of his own schedules. He’d had not even the vaguest idea that it was today of all days. He had only spoken to Kyungsoo the other day and even he had failed to mention it to him. As his brain struggled to resolve his initial shock and confusion, the conversation continued across him with unforgiving seriousness.

“So what happened?” Junmyeon pressed. 

“Awful.. awful.” Sehun shook his head, “Father. Father can cope with it all but I can’t. My mother’s disposition. That’s what I have… all of it is too much…”

“Sehun!” Chanyeol demanded, startling the conversing pair until both pairs of eyes were on him, “What happened!”

“ _The murder charges_!” Sehun answered with matching fury as he beat his chest with a hand and continued with a weaker voice, “Zhang Yixing was found guilty and handed the death penalty in a closed trial. Father’s _fuming_. He’s crying out for proof of negligence. But… realistically… Mr. Zhang could hang by the end of the week… awful isn’t it?” 

Sehun’s soft voice drifted further away, condensed to an obscure humming as Chanyeol felt his entire spectrum of emotions _drain_ out of him. 

“Is the news out?” Chanyeol said suddenly, cutting into the pair’s conversation about whether the trial had been a long one.

“Well, yes.” Sehun said, “I actually have to go to the office now and--”

But Chanyeol left first. He was out of the door before he could explain himself, before he could think of anything else but Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo.

 

 

 

 

 

No response came after the receptionist rang Kyungsoo’s room. No response came following a quick knock from the cleaning staff. _Do you want us to go up there with you?”_ The receptionist had uttered with a look of horror on his face as he struggled to suggest their next steps. Chanyeol refused and reassured him that it was all under control despite his own apprehensions. He went up himself, certain that it would increase his chances of receiving an open door. 

He reached the door and knocked three times.

“Kyungsoo,” he said in a completely calm voice, “It’s me. It’s Chanyeol. Please open the door. I heard-- I heard--”

To his surprise, the door opened quickly. 

Kyungsoo’s form was revealed: shaking, pale, with his thin arms wrapped over his chest like he was hiding a wound.

The author didn’t hesitate with his response. He removed the space between them and pulled the other man into an embrace. “ _Kyungsoo_.” The singer shuddered in his grasp as he pronounced the name, his tone bleeding with relief -- “ _Kyungsoo_.” Chanyeol shut his eyes as he felt the other’s arms shift and wrap around him. The author responded by holding him tighter. He held him in the way he wished he had the first time -- and the second time -- and the many other times he’d seen him suffer impossibly for the sake of another. Kyungsoo began to cry as he bowed his head against the author’s chest. 

He cried like a man who had lost a long and painful fight.

Chanyeol shut his eyes and rested his head against the other’s trembling form.

_What can I do?_

_Please tell me what I can do._

Moments passed and the singer’s trembles subsided. When he lifted his head from him, Chanyeol glimpsed how the tears had marked his cheeks, swollen his eyes, and still even then, the singer found the urge to wipe his face with his sleeve.

“Don’t.” Chanyeol interrupted him as he froze mid-motion, “It doesn’t matter…” 

A teardrop fell -- and then another. Kyungsoo’s hands fell to his sides as he sobbed, outwardly this time, letting his emotions carry easily through the depth of his tired breaths. “I came as soon as I heard…” 

“He can’t d--…”

“ _Kyungsoo_...”

“This is all my fault….” 

The singer opened his mouth and for a moment, Chanyeol thought he would confess to something but instead -- came the flowers. He coughed loudly, distressingly, and he did so into his hands as he stumbled back into his house with his face shielded into his arms. The author followed him, ready to cry out and offer his reassurances, but the sight that met him inside was enough to stun him into a similar state of motionlessness.

Beyond the door, an open window shed light on the pools of blue that littered the carpeted floor of Kyungsoo’s living room. There was so much of it-- and it was so starkly bright in texture and colour that it almost resembled the sparkling blue ocean of Kyungsoo’s beloved painting. It would’ve been impossible to believe that all of it could come from one person; but there was no doubting now that it had. The blue petals were scattering with the cold draught flowing through the open window. Chanyeol watched as a petal drifted towards him before catching on the edge of his shoe. 

He glanced at it before crossing the space and moving respectfully around the rest of the petals -- and the stricken singer -- as he pulled down the window until it latched shut with a thud.

Sensing the heaviness of the room behind him, the author turned and observed the way that so many of the petals had invaded all corners of the room -- in a similar way to light and shadows would consume a space. They resembled little brush strokes of blue -- and in any other world, the sight of it would’ve been so _wonderful_ ; like a scene taken directly from the beginning of a storybook tale. But knowing what he knew, and feeling what he felt, Chanyeol wasn’t sure he had ever felt his heart feel as empty as it did now. There was no romance in his eyes -- not a trace of wonder -- only an enduring hopelessness, as the rest of his thoughts left him. 

Vulnerable; to the gravity of the horrific blue beneath his feet.

Kyungsoo moved towards him, the hand which he’d held over his lips slipping away as he glanced at the author miserably.

“Chanyeol?” he asked softly, “Chanyeol?” 

The call endured in the air between them, unanswered, as the author glanced around and realised that he heard only one voice -- and one name.

_Yixing._

_Yixing_.

“-- I’m sorry about the news,” the author told Kyungsoo, as the singer approached him with his wet eyes, “If I’d known… I would’ve come.” 

“I didn’t know… it was a closed trial--”

“There must be something else we can do,” Chanyeol managed, as Kyungsoo stood across him, a greyness in his complexion, “I’m sure there will be an appeal--”

“Do… you think so?” 

“There were issues with the evidence collection, yes? From what I understand from Sehun, they’ll definitely be demanding something.” 

“Oh--god.”

“If there’s anything they can do…”

“Is there anything?” 

“I don’t know yet, Kyungsoo.”

“But if there is anything…”

“Then… I’m sure they’ll do it.” 

The hope was faint - the flicker of a candle-light but it lit up the singer’s eyes with such life that Chanyeol thought he might cry from his own misguided relief. But it was the singer who was crying -- and it was the singer who he would return to his arms and hold unbelievably tightly.

As Kyungsoo embraced him back with equal force, the author turned away from the blue that surrounded him -- and the blue deep within the one he held.

“If there’s anything we can do for him, Chanyeol. Please.” The singer’s voice cracked with his grief as he rested his head against the other’s chest, “ _Please_.”

Chanyeol listened, his eyes remaining closed as his fingers held onto the sleeves of the singer’s arms as he nodded his head. “If there’s anything,” he echoed, “You’ll be the first to know.” 

_“Thank you.”_

The author felt his fingers dig rigidly into the cotton fabric of the singer’s shirt.

_“He doesn’t any of deserve it…”_

It surrendered easily to his motions, wrinkling beneath the uneasy rustle of his trembling fingertips.

_“I’ll die if he dies…”_

Chanyeol’s eyes opened after hearing the words pronounced as a final lament from Kyungsoo’s lips. Light had returned to the room now; exposing the room of the most unimaginable blue. He saw it, and felt him, and held on as it circled around his head like a lyric. 

 

_“I’ll die if he dies…”_

 

_“I’ll die if he dies…”_

 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: A/N: [in the tune of monster] this fic has got me goin crazyyy TTTTT ( PARK CHANYEOL, DONT GET HURT) 
> 
> ahh. sorry for the wait guys ;-; your author has had quite a turbulent few months! but not as turbulent as the months facing these people here -- i am so very sleepy, and so very weary of editing this long thing hehe so i’ll try and keep it short. Firstly, if it isn’t obvious, this story is going to be longer than i said -- it’s a common theme w my stories but w this one it’s going t be particularly important bc i’m toying w all sorts of endings and i want to make sure that the story is rounded so i pick the right one ^_^ also, i have grown terribly attached to writer chanyeol and i just want to keep shaping him like fondant ;--; for the next chapter, there’s probably going to be a fair bit of laysoo / chanbaek background ---- and so if u really hate that, then i’ve warned u!! C: but yes its necessary bc we will be returning to the whole yixing x criminal thing which took a hike in this chapter bc of pcy’s shameless (and doomed) crushing. ok! ahhh i'm in pain!!! ahh! must sleep now! 
> 
> Be well always everyone! thanks as always for reading and being kind. Let us cheer each other on c: even as the exo-drought persists <33
> 
> (also i thought of a music theme for this fic and it's a piano piece called 'dinner for two' by allysa nelson. i listen to it now and just frown ahaha but it's lovely q__q).
> 
> (also if any of u have read sias there were so many tiny (and not very tiny) references; i know it's not possible but i felt a bit cheap for subconsciously self-plagiarising smh).


	4. A Kiss To Build A Dream On

*

 

Every career can be reduced to indulgent levels of brainless bureaucracy in disguise. For an author, these unavoidable inconveniences took the form of endless interviews and media panels in which his opinion for matterless matters were sought after and adorned. It was almost by donning the hat of a writer-- he also had to play the role of an _expert_ , an impresario, a revolutionary on a great many subjects he actually knew little about. Only fools would fall for such a thing; but you would be surprised at how many did. Granted to say, he wasn’t one of them. He knew his place and it was that of his craft, nothing more or less. 

Yet Chanyeol found it impossible to decline the vast majority of these invitations because they were often organised through inner circle favours. Too accustomed to this world of puppeteers and strings, he understood why he had to do the things he did-- and for whom -- but that rarely lessened the lurking sickness he felt about most of it. 

Posed with a question he could have answered with a simple head-shake, the author stared at the journalist blankly as if he’d woken up from a daydream.

“Chanyeol?” pressed Minseok, as they sat together, the both of them squeezed in his small cubicle-like office at _The Times_ , “Did you hear me?” 

“Yes,” the author murmured, before waving his hand in the air to beckon the secretary for a cigarette.

The interview continued with a cigarette fitted snugly between Chanyeol’s fingers. Politics was discussed; as well as the state of Literature following the Great Wars -- and then attention turned to his new book. A subject they had frequently circled but he had dodged like a boxer with a sharp defence.

“So any ideas for a new book?” 

“Is this off-the-record?” Chanyeol teased.

“I’d prefer not. But I’m curious myself,” Minseok said with a laugh.

The author responded with a taut smile as he answered, “There’s nothing in the works yet. You can write that if you want.” He took a long draw from his cigarette as he sat up and rubbed his forehead with opposing fingers, “...or perhaps you’d like to write in a lie. I don’t really mind. Make up a scoop if you want. Just make it believable. I like you Minseok. I like you very much. I wouldn’t blame you.”

The journalist gulped as the weight of the author’s words sunk in.

“Excuse me?” Minseok leaned forwards, more subdued in his approach as he added, “Chanyeol, are you alright?” 

The cigarette was stubbed dry into an ashtray. Contrary to the growing temptation to do so on his own arm. Chanyeol nodded his head, rubbing his face -- and eyes -- into his hands. He needed to leave this room now.

“Fine, fine. Just tired.” 

“Would you like a moment?” 

“I’d like longer, please.”

“Sure, of course.”

Moving feet surrounded him. Invisible voices -- light touches. Chanyeol kept his eyes closed as he sat up. “Thank you. You’re a good man Minseok.” 

The author left the room after confusing the oblivious journalist -- and his awaiting outside team -- into stillness. There was no doubting how the raucous he’d caused would circle back around and bite him later. Chanyeol expected it to come crooning in the form of a furious phone-call from Junmyeon-- and some adjoining media aggression in tomorrow’s gossip column. But it didn’t matter to Chanyeol now for his mind and heart were both elsewhere. 

Held in fear; in hostage-- where they had been ever since that day he found Do Kyungsoo, broken, following his previous lover’s sentencing. 

A week had passed since and already reality’s practical steps had exceeded his own emotional frigidity. A comprehensive legal appeal was in motion and he, being the good man that he was, had taken the role of reassuring the distraught singer with the progress -- or lack thereof. Each night, they called each other on the telephone and spoke about it. Gone were the nights in which they’d laugh over their days or exchange tiny snippets of writing they had attempted. Now, Chanyeol was confined to be a vessel-- in which he was to deliver news about Zhang Yixing’s condition like a cold commentator’s voice on the radio. It was making him miserable -- rightly so, for there was no joy to be found in any part of it. But misery was not a usual acquaintance of his. He couldn’t bear it capably for long. 

Hence why when the notification for his hospital request for further information about the Hanahaki disease was answered with a specialist’s contact number and address-- Chanyeol took it as a sign to halt his damning swoop downwards. Through this avenue, he intended to further help Kyungsoo and through that he would find the relief he was so badly seeking in this circumstance of misfortune.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The specialist -- Dr. Kim Jongdae -- lived an hour outside the city centre, reachable by a short commuter train. He lived in a four-storey townhouse which doubled up as his out-of-hours clinic. He was an admirably educated man with diplomas that hung in a neat line over his office wall like gleaming portraits in a gallery. The pair bonded over having attended the same alma mater, and perused over their own overlapping circle of friends. It was notably casual - a far cry from the rigid formalities set between a patient seeking consultation from their physician. But it wasn’t long before the central subject of the visit rose to the surface. A discussion conducted over a pot of tea and warm lemon cake baked by Dr. Kim’s wife.

“My experience of Hanahaki Disease is confined to the research I’ve done,” said Dr. Kim as he tipped a spoonful of sugar into his teacup, “My major at university was genetics… so I became interested in the condition after reading a paper in which it was alleged that people with certain characteristics are more inclined to develop it. A revolutionary hypothesis when one considers how much of modern medicine is focused on what we subject ourselves to, not what we ourselves already _have_.”

The scientific jargon puzzled the author slightly. Chanyeol took a moment to ponder the words before posing a question. 

“Characteristics? What do you mean by that?” 

“Oh. Genetic characteristics,” clarified the doctor with a warm smile, “The biological material we inherit from our parents that make up-- the entirety of our being! There was a research paper done by this wonderful gentleman-- a Dutchman, I believe. I’ll find it for you if you like. _Anyway_ , he hypothesised that this disease, alongside others which we now would class as unexplained biological phenomenons, may entirely be caused by our genetics. This may explain why the diseases are so rare and so hard to study. But… aside from that paper, there hasn’t been much done on it I’m afraid.” 

“I see,” Chanyeol said as he pursed his lips thoughtfully, glancing down at where he had scribbled a few notes. _Dutchman paper: genetics???_ \- “Well, doctor, my other question is… how likely is survival once you contract the disease?”

The physician answered the question after a longer pause.

“There are certainly verified cases of people who have survived. Not many. But the stories are always the same. I remember one gentleman described how the disease passed like the _flu_. Hardly believable when you consider the symptoms but… the likelihood of survival purely depends on the individual and the stage in which they contract the illness.” The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed as he took a sip of his drink, “Generally speaking, the more advanced the symptoms, the lower the possibility of survival.” 

Naturally Chanyeol had expected that answer. It was the sound conclusion he’d determined from some basic material he had collected through his own research. But hearing the bleak trajectory of the disease from a true expert only intensified the growing fear he felt inside. This was enough to remove any further questions from the front of his mind as he lowered his shaky gaze to his notepad. The letters wobbled in his line of vision. 

The doctor witnessed this display and found himself even more baffled as to why the esteemed author would take such a profound interest in such a niche subject. At his premier call, Park Chanyeol had cited his focus to be on research for a text -- which would’ve been perfectly believable had he not seemed to direct each of his questions with an uncanny level of feeling.

“Pardon me, Mr. Park. But may I ask you a question?” Dr. Kim asked.

“Certainly.” Chanyeol said.

“Is there a particular reason as to why this topic interests you?” The doctor was careful not to press as he masked his curiosity with a soft laugh, “I find it hard to believe that someone like yourself couldn’t find someone better than me to consult…” 

Chanyeol met the doctor’s question with a tired smile. His lips parted and closed -- and did so a few times as his gaze flew around the room as if hoping to pluck a false answer from somewhere. There was only one true answer after all but he was in no position to share it. But perhaps it was only now that the author recognised how much easier it all would feel, for him, should he be able to.

“I -- can’t -- say,” Chanyeol revealed in defeat.

Having anticipated the response, the doctor offered a sympathetic smile. 

“That’s fine, Mr. Park. But _please_ if there is anything I could do to help you or advise you then my clinic’s doors are wide open.” 

The author said his thanks and finished his tea. The kindly doctor was happy to share more details about his research and provide some commentary on the material that the hospital had shared with Chanyeol. Yet it soon dawned on the author that this second-hand contribution wasn’t why he had come, nor would it fulfil his objective of helping the ailing singer. 

He had to know _more_ and for that he had to share more in turn. 

So he did. Chanyeol directed the conversation to a comfortable pace and then introduced his _friend_ whom he happened to seek advice for. He offered a brief description of Kyungsoo’s developing symptoms: from the frequency of Kyungsoo’s outbursts to the size of the petals and the quantity. The doctor listened intently and offered a few pieces of advice to help soothe the flare-ups but concluded with a key delivery. One that the author had known all along but had badly needed to hear. 

“.... I’m a believer that diseases are best treated from causes,” Dr. Kim said with a sigh, “This is a disease that develops… in principle… from an unrequited love, yes? So to survive, truly, they must rid themselves of that love.”

“That’s a hard task,” Chanyeol said with a frown.

“Of course,” Dr. Kim acknowledged with a nod, “It’s not a simple case of saying you don’t love someone. The breadth of this condition is as real as any injury. It needs time and care to heal… but for your friend’s sake, a disease like this _will_ advance if it’s not attended to. And considering the frequency of his outbursts, it is possible that he won’t survive past Easter.”

“Easter.” Chanyeol echoed. His chest swelled, the sensation hollow and distant, as his gaze lowered to his hands. “Just a few months then?”

A faint murmur came in response. The author’s eyes rested on his fingertips as the sunlight brushed over them -- reminding him immediately of Easter, of springtime, of sunlight and flowers -- and of Kyungsoo.

And then he was gasping-- on the edge of a faint -- over the tea and sweet lemon cake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The author carried the knowledge from this meeting within him in hopes of addressing it a few days later when he was scheduled to see Kyungsoo again. The oblivious singer bounded into his apartment with the happy news that Yixing’s case had its appeal accepted by the appellate court. Mr. Oh and his legal team were confident that they would be able to argue the case to a better outcome. Relief and excitement flooded the singer’s eyes, his gentle voice, sending shivers through the author as he prepared them each a hot drink.

Happy as he was for him, Chanyeol couldn’t help but think distantly about the doctor’s words and warnings. He assessed Kyungsoo as the man spoke in swift thrilled bursts -- first about Yixing’s case -- and then the story he had been writing -- back to Yixing -- and so forth. Follow the melody of his voice and there was no change with its delivery just as passionate and compelling as before. But there was no doubt that he had lost weight since their first meeting and his eyes -- his wonderful bright eyes -- were skittish and weary. Concerning. Especially coupled with the sickly pallor in his complexion that couldn’t be refreshed by even the brightness of his living room lights.

Easter. They only had until then and nothing about what he could see told Chanyeol that he had reason to believe otherwise. 

“... I’m rather nervous,” Kyungsoo said as he placed a book on Chanyeol’s desk with a laugh. Presumably the story he had busied himself over. “But I’ve been working hard on it. I’m used to criticism. So you should be as harsh as you want… but I do want to be here when you read it because I want to watch your face as you say what you need to say…” 

Chanyeol humored him as he vaguely addressed the book with his gaze. It didn’t stray long -- lacking the interest he usually showed in the singer’s written conquests.

“Is something the matter?” Kyungsoo asked before reaching out and planting a hand on his arm. 

The author’s gaze rested on the touch. 

“Kyungsoo. May I ask you something?”

“Sure.” The response was comfortingly fast. Kyungsoo looked at him eagerly and up close. There, the author recognised that pallid or otherwise, the singer’s eyes would never lose their glimmer. Not for him. _Easter_ , the doctor had said.

Was it possible? When his eyes. Just his eyes, were everlasting.

“Would… could… how…” The stuttering persisted for a few seconds, serving only to amuse his companion, before Chanyeol exhaled loudly and brought along his offer -- “Would you consider visiting a physician with me and getting your health assessed?”

Initially, the expression held on Kyungsoo’s face was promising. There was not a trace of the offence or discomfort that Chanyeol had predicted his offer would cause. It was what he’d presumed because Kyungsoo had always rebuffed any intimation of help before. But with time, the gravity of his offer was finally realised by the singer and without a single ounce of hesitation, Kyungsoo turned away and walked towards the door.

“Kyungsoo!”

Chanyeol predicted it. He felt it. He knew it wouldn’t go well but he had to try. He had counted the days. He kept counting the days. They barely had any really. It was so frightening; so _sad_. Oh he couldn’t cope with waiting any more. He couldn’t cope with knowing and standing idly by-- 

“Kyungsoo!-- please!” 

Kyungsoo managed to make it to the door of the apartment before he turned, barely able to lift his eyes from where they stared doggedly at the hem of Chanyeol’s shirt.

The author did his best to plea despite the fact that he was shaking-- taken to the verge of tears again.

“... I know a physician!-- he’s an expert and he can help and he has the answers that you need in terms of how to manage--”

“Stop,” The interruption came with Kyungsoo finally meeting his eyes. The glimmer was now supplemented by tears. 

“Chanyeol. I told you. There’s nothing anyone can do for me--” began the singer in a voice that resembled a plea, “ _Please_.”

“Just let him see you and then maybe--”

The singer shook his head but the author was determined to fight. 

“It won’t be anything intrusive. I’ll go with--”

“No! Chanyeol! You have to _stop!_ ” The cry was furious, startling even the author who took a conscious step back in the fray, “You don’t know what you’re talking about! You always act like you do! Just because you write books about them you think you know … people but you _don’t_! You have… _no_ idea what I’m going through so you have no right to tell me what to do!”

There was nothing like the silence that followed an outburst of that kind. Chanyeol felt the impact of the words stir within him as he looked on, hopeless. 

“I’m just trying to be a friend, Kyungsoo,” he said sadly.

Kyungsoo wiped his eyes. Frankly, the author was too tired to cry.

“Thank you, Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo said softly, graciously-- before offering the author a less certain smile, “Goodbye.”

Then he left. 

The author remained behind the door in the hopes that the other would return and apologise but he didn’t. 

Dismayed, Chanyeol dragged his feet back into his study, collapsed in his chair, and buried his head into his hands. 

Later he would be forced to write for the screenplay of _A Tender Love_ where he would have to imitate successfully the feelings that Kyungsoo had accused him of not having. Never had he felt so tired about this whole thing than this moment. It was as if all the dominoes had finally fallen in the game and he was the last. Not even the thought of the pending springtime would provide the reprieve he needed to survive this deathly winter.

He felt painfully helpless. Just like when the many other people in his life had passed away or left. him Aching. He always felt like the one holding the broken ties in the dark. Alone. Why was that? Was he doomed to hold on too tightly to those he cared for?

With time, he thought of the good that an apology could do. Kyungsoo was right. He had no right to tell him what he should do. For that, an apology was required and maybe from then they can start again. Chanyeol was convinced that he could find another way to get through the other. Struck by a rare sense of purpose, he reached for something to scribble on a telegram message but found himself eye-to-eye with Kyungsoo’s abandoned book. It sat flat on his desk, and Kyungsoo’s phantom voice, the one that had talked of his excitement of the author reading his preliminary work echoed in the man’s head. 

Chanyeol reached for the book and opened it. One line was all it took for the author to realise that Kyungsoo must have made a mistake. What he’d left behind wasn’t an example of his fiction-- but something far more private.

It was a letter. 

And despite the doubts which grew louder and louder in his thoughts the more he read, Chanyeol found himself unwilling and incapable of putting the book down. 

It started simply-- 

 

 

_‘To you,_

_We met in December. Do you remember that season? I do. I remember so much of it because of you…’_

 

 

 

The delicacy of snowfall, its crystal blankets, was wasted in this sad and dreary part of town. 

In fairness, Kyungsoo had never liked winter. When he was growing up, he associated winters with the hardest part of the year. It was when his mother appeared to withdraw into herself, leaving their conversations to be dominated by the harshness of living in the cold and the loneliness of snowy nights. Even with the aid of time, no comfort grew from the snowcapped fields to the young boy whose favourite songs were ballads about summertime romances and dancing with fireflies in the lakeside heat. He yearned for the sun and no alternative during these dark days. 

Rubbing his hands together before addressing his frozen cheeks, Kyungsoo was huffing visible airy circles in the air when the door beside him opened. The faint lyrics of a chorus girl’s lullaby came floating out with the young man whom for the past few nights had been noticeably present at the bar. The entertainers had spoken about him backstage. He was one of the little puppy boys of the city’s known triad family. Either they were here for the entertainment or to collect debts. Nonetheless, the bottom line was that they were all trouble and the entertainers were firmly advised to keep their distance and allow the bar managers handle business at all levels.

The man who came to stand by Kyungsoo was slender and dark-haired. He had noticeably striking features, lacking the delicacy of the snowfall or the tinkle of the chorus girl’s hymns. If he was music then he was a strong memorable operatic solo. So much so that Kyungsoo found that he couldn’t remember any of the faces that resided at his table -- only him. How could he feel any different? His were the eyes that watched with such attention that sometimes when Kyungsoo sung, he felt himself sink into the melodies more, revelling in the fantasy that someone out there truly cared about the words.

It was a fallacy. But singing _A Summertime Ball_ to a stranger was the warmest thing he would get in this bitterest of Decembers.

“You smoke?” His voice was lighter than Kyungsoo expected. Kyungsoo looked at him but he swiftly looked away. For someone who had spent a fair proportion of the week dedicated to watching him, the stranger seemed terminally averse to meeting Kyungsoo’s eyes now. It was as if by being close they had broken the very thing which had attracted them to each other in the first place.

“I don’t,” answered Kyungsoo, “It’s bad for your vocal chords.”

“Ah-- of course. Of course.”

The stranger crushed his newly lit-cigarette beneath his boots. Kyungsoo watched him, the weight in his thoughts intensifying as their eyes finally met. There was only a lingering awkwardness -- smothered quickly by the thought that the stranger had a notably handsome smile, which prompted the singer to smile in return.

“I got you these by the way… I thought…” 

From inside his jacket, the stranger offered a bouquet of striking blue flowers against the falling snow.

“What did you think?” Kyungsoo said with an amazed expression. He had never seen such a striking set before-- nor ever think he would get a _bouquet_ in his life.

“… one of the chorus girls. She said you liked blue. So I thought you might like these.” The stranger fumbled. 

It was the first time Kyungsoo had ever received anything as beautiful as this. He was reminded of home for a moment; and it was a wonderful recollection. The man was blushing bright red across him. He looked just as radiant with the falling snow behind him.

Kyungsoo was certain that he was blushing too.

“I can’t eat blue though,” the singer teased before taking the bouquet with a laugh, “I mean… if we’re going on things I like. Food is what I like the most.” 

The stranger laughed in return, his dimpled cheeks appearing. He owned such a charming face. It was so obvious now. Kyungsoo felt his whole face grow warm in its presence as he pulled the flowers close to his chest. 

“You’re hungry?” the man asked.

“Always.” Kyungsoo said shyly.

“We can go grab a dinner somewhere. I have a car.” 

Kyungsoo couldn’t deny that such an offer perked an excitement in him. But he found himself looking back at the door and quickly sighing. 

“I have to go sing again.”

The disappointment was echoed. The man shrugged his shoulders and brushed a few flecks of snow away from Kyungsoo’s shoulder.

“Next time then… I’m Yixing by the way.” 

The man offered a gloved hand.

“I’m Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo took the hand and shook it with a shy smile.

 

 

 

 

 

They met at the exact same spot the following week. Yixing returned with a box of desserts that Kyungsoo received with surprise but with even more obvious joy. He ate with the same fervour as he received the bouquet-- and charmed his companion by identifying each of the creamy and indulgent pastries in turn, country of origin and all. He showed none of the silly bashfulness that he would’ve suffered through as a younger man. In this life he learned to take when something was offered. Because second chances never came around when you were the one waiting on the world.

“You know your pastries, huh?” Yixing commented, offering him a tissue.

Kyungsoo nodded as he reached for the tissue. He offered the other man another pastry but he refused. 

“So, is there anything you want for next time? Something warmer perhaps?” Yixing asked, “There’s a dumpling shop right next to the bakery.”

Kyungsoo shook his head. All he ever ate at the bar were warm savoury things. Eating lovely sweets was a luxury he was happy to preserve.

“I should pay you back.” Kyungsoo said afterwards, having grown full of eating - pockets now full of the extra pastries he wasn’t able to eat.

“Pay me in song.” Yixing shrugged before poking Kyungsoo’s cheek where a light dusting of the icing sugar remained, “-- you missed.”

“Oh!” 

 

 

 

 

 

The next week-- and the weeks after that-- Yixing brought Kyungsoo sweets from all sorts of amazing places around the city. Sometimes they were soft in the middle, coated thoroughly in sugar, or syrupy and gooey in texture. The pieces he wasn’t able to finish outside he smuggled indoors and used as bartering chips for better chores at the bar with the other chorus girls and boys. 

And for Yixing, Kyungsoo countered his offerings with song. He made a habit of singing all his favourites and did so with as much passion as he could muster. There were times in which Kyungsoo found himself singing the same practiced lines and realising that it was the best that he had ever sung them. A belief that was reinforced because Yixing would generously praise him afterwards with words sweeter than the sugary treats he brought him. 

The arrangement went along peacefully. But the identity of his friend wouldn’t go amiss. Kyungsoo was warned by his roommate about playing with fire and on that same day, someone came out and disturbed them in the middle of their alley rendezvous. 

“Yixing. You’re wanted.” A rough voice called out, barely comprehensible with the dialect. 

Yixing answered in a foreign language. The other replied. The situation escalated as did the volumes of their voices. Then a door was smacked hard against its hinges and an unsettled quiet followed. Yixing turned to Kyungsoo.

“Sorry about that,” he said before shaking his head.

Kyungsoo looked back at the door. “Are you a triad member?”

There was no hesitation in Yixing’s response as he nodded. “Does it bother you?” 

Kyungsoo looked at the box of sweets in his hand and shook his head firmly.

“I have to go. Next week? I’ll bring more of these since you like them so much.” Yixing said, before reaching for the singer’s hand and squeezing it.

It was a practice he had started a few weeks prior-- after he bought Kyungsoo a set of caramel fudges. Before he could leave, Kyungsoo decided to create a routine of his own as he pecked the man’s cheek with a kiss, still a little sugary in places. 

“Next week,” the singer said.

Their faces were still touching when he spoke. So it was no surprise that Yixing would accept the invitation and kiss him properly-- sweetly, _lovingly_ , and with so much care that Kyungsoo found the box of sweets falling to his feet as his hands reached for Yixing’s face with need to feel more and all of him. 

“I need to go,” was Yixing’s breathless plea.

“Not without me,” the singer mumbled. 

They smiled at each other like silly teenagers and pledged their love there, alone as budding lovers, in the long December dusk. 

 

 

_‘... Winter makes me feel the loneliest. It reminds me of my mother. The emptiness her death left me - you were able to fulfil and more. I felt like I belonged somewhere for the first time. You even took me in at my lowest-- when they cast me away from the bar that night. I felt so lost. To know that you were there for me with an open door and open arms._

_I cannot tell you how much that meant to me._

_And I tried to love you just as purely, my love. I really did… ‘_

 

 

 

A familiar bunch of blue flowers sat on the aged windowsill. Kyungsoo touched its leaves and watched the calm city live its usual day across him. It wasn’t a very unique or beautiful view-- the well littered streets, fresh laundry flapping from a neighbor’s balcony, and a trio of old men playing chess in their worker’s undershirts across the street. One of the men whistled at him and waved him down in a friendly manner.

It was lovely.

His life here with Yixing was so different to his old home. He thought about his siblings and his father. The huge mansion and the rich sprawling land it sat on. How could he be so content here when it was so humble in comparison? All his life he had been guided to believe that there was no joy outside of opulence and wealth. But here he was, with his love, in a home that they shared. It was springtime and he was so joyful. 

He fell asleep humming a tune. Yixing returned in the early hours and carried him to bed. 

“Why do you keep yourself up?” Yixing scolded, tucking them both into the bed. 

“I wanted to wait.” Kyungsoo hummed. His eyes felt heavy with the tug of sleep but his heart was warm, newly returned to the other’s close company. 

“Do you feel at home here already?” Yixing said with a smile. 

Kyungsoo had only moved in a few days ago. There was still an unopened box in the kitchen where all his books were. Kyungsoo nodded and looked up at the other, letting himself be embraced. It was what Yixing loved most - holding him in the cold night, letting the strange noises of the night fade behind his tender voice.

“Your family are looking for you,” Yixing said, “You should tell them where you are.”

“Why should I?” Kyungsoo asked, frowning. 

“Because there are posters nearby with your face on it,” the other hummed, passing him a knowing stare, “and I know you think about them.” 

Kyungsoo didn’t answer, signalling that the subject was dropped for tonight. As it was every other night. Yixing allowed himself to be ignorant, as he always did, letting the drowsy drone of their usual conversation topics blanket over any lingering tensions. Before long they were tangled together, with Yixing half-asleep on Kyungsoo’s chest as the other read out-of-date tabloid magazines in the dim lamp-light. For Kyungsoo, it was fast becoming the most comfortable place in the world.

“I think I love you,” whispered Kyungsoo, one hand lost in Yixing’s lovely hair. 

“But you’re not certain yet?” hummed the other.

“Not yet.” Kyungsoo teased. 

“Then I’ll have to try harder.” Yixing said with a big smile.

“Do you love me?” Kyungsoo asked him.

“More than the world.” Yixing answered just as easily as he had that night, they had kissed the first time, when the singer had playfully asked him whether he had-- “I loved you the moment I saw you, flower. Remember?” 

The magazine was pressed to his face.

“Don’t call me that.” The singer cautioned.

“Call you what?” Yixing repeated, playfully taking Kyungsoo’s hand and adorning it with a kiss.

“ _Flower_.” The singer scrunched his nose and shook his head. “It’s not very masculine.”

“... and what does that have to do with anything?” Yixing looked up at him with his eyes, as pure as night, and grinned, “You’re beautiful. _Flower_.”

“If you say so.” Kyungsoo said resignedly.

 

 

 

 

_‘There was plenty about your life that was shrouded in mystery. I sung at bar nights for years. I met all sorts. But with time I grew to realise that I wasn’t used to the harshness of your life. At times loving you was like loving a distant star. I’d be there, left wondering if you were real -- if the man I loved was truly who he said he was -- and then you would come home to me, shining, in the night, away from the woes of the day, as bright as ever, as wonderful as when I met you the first time._

_If I was a flower, then you were the fresh solid ground that held me._

_And what came after was all my fault.’_

 

 

 

They always fought when the sun was up. Kyungsoo began to hate the sunshine through the window, uncertain about what troubles it would bring with it the moment it basked their living space with its sharp blinding light.

“Give up on the singing.” 

Today it was that.

“What do you mean?” Kyungsoo clutched his comb tighter to his chest as if it was a microphone, “You know I love singing.” 

“Do you love me? Then give up.” Yixing was on his favourite chair. Smoking indoors. In the way that he knew would irk the singer. He had been doing that a lot these days ever since he started to grow anxious about the mysterious things at work that he couldn’t bring himself to tell his lover. This, to Kyungsoo, was far more irksome.

“How can you say that.” Kyungsoo chewed his bottom lip as he turned away from the window and towards him, “You can’t put those two things together.” 

“The city’s on its knees, Kyungsoo.” Yixing rubbed his eyes in frustration, “I want to leave. We can go and live a different life somewhere else. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

_As many as needs be_ , thought Kyungsoo bitterly as he stated a cold - 

“Running away has never solved a problem.”

Yixing lowered his hands and spoke with a colder voice.

“You don’t trust me?” 

“I never said that.” 

“Then why won’t you listen?” 

“You’re scaring me.” 

“Oh you’re not making sense now.”

“There you again. Making me feel like I don’t matter.”

More words. And other things. Then, within a blink, the vase with the blue flowers was cracked on the floor and the front door was slamming shut. Last week it had been Kyungsoo’s beloved radio. He still didn’t have enough in his tips to get it fixed.

Kyungsoo cleaned the mess up quickly. Tears clouded his eyes which led to a shard lodging into the flesh of his thumb. He cleaned the wound out, stifled the bleeding with a cloth, and when he returned to clean the rest of it he found Yixing on the floor sweeping up the rest of the glass. He paused when he got to the flowers.

“You didn’t tell me they were all dead,” murmured Yixing, looking up at Kyungsoo with those same eyes-- those same, loving eyes, “I could have bought us new ones today.”

“Yixing.” Kyungsoo approached him and held him tightly. His thumb ached as he pressed it against Yixing’s back as they embraced. 

The sun was lower in the horizon -- and drew its light back from their living room. Kyungsoo felt like peace had come early. 

“Say you won’t leave with me and I’ll never bring up the subject again.” Yixing murmured. 

“I’m going to keep singing.” Kyungsoo said resolutely, never expecting how easily the words would come as he felt a jolt of dread in his heart, “I can’t run away any further… or I’ll forget where I am. You understand don’t you?”

Yixing kissed him lightly on the forehead. 

“Of course I do, flower,” he whispered.

 

 

 

 

 

_‘Things got worse not better. It was my decision that night that led to your punishment. I know that now. We had an understanding that I wouldn’t be allowed to ask questions about what you did and I took it too seriously. The blind eye that I chose to look over your work meant that I was blind to how scared you were. For yourself-- and us._

_But my love, you have to understand that you were desperately trying to find a home in me, just as I was trying to find one in you._

_And our failure. It still disappointments me… ’_

 

 

A thick screen of rain fell behind the shut windowsill. The blue flowers watched as they drooped, untouched, their wilting petals touching the gloss of mould that had grown on the dry glass.

“I have to go-- it’s not safe for me anymore. I’m going North.”

Yixing was throwing his clothes into a suitcase. He clutched a handful of ice wrapped in a hanky against his jaw which he’d probably dislocated in a fight. 

“What about me?” Kyungsoo asked, “Take me with you--!”

“You can’t come! How many times!” 

Yixing’s face was a mess. There was blood on the sheets from where he’d wiped his hands as he’d looked for his clothes in the small apartment. Kyungsoo couldn’t bear how sudden it seemed. He had been reading his magazines only moments ago and now he was talking about leaving? Surely none of it was real. 

“Please don’t leave me--” Kyungsoo pleaded, holding onto the other’s sleeve, thoroughly in shock, “Yixing, please.” 

Yixing didn’t look at him in the eyes as he spoke.

“Just go home, Kyungsoo. Go home.” 

“This is my home!” Kyungsoo cried.

“No! It’s not! It’s never been your home. Go home. To your _real_ home. You’d be safe there. Not here.” 

Within seconds, Kyungsoo felt too much and in his confusion to grapple with it all, he felt unable to breathe. He was alone in a darkening room just like when his mother had died and his siblings had congregated at his doorstep like hounds. There had been blood on the sheets then too-- and his mother-- his poor, poor mother--

He collapsed on the bed, breathing hard into his trembling hands.

Yixing sank to his knees in front of him after pushing the suitcase shut. 

“Go home,” he repeated, as he placed his head on Kyungsoo’s knees, “That’s where you belong, flower. Not here.” 

“Please don’t leave me alone. I’m so tired of being alone.” Kyungsoo wrapped his arms over his lover and rested his head over his, “Please, please Yixing…” 

“I have to go.”

“Not without me, Yixing. N--not without me!” 

But he did leave him this time. After embracing him and leaving Kyungsoo sobbing into their bed, Yixing said something. It was a goodbye-- and perhaps an _I love you_.

Kyungsoo couldn’t bring himself to say he loved him too as he was left, too stunned and heartbroken, for the second time in his life. 

He stayed there, numb, until the rains stopped. 

And then with the final ounce of spirit he had left, he called home. 

 

 

_‘When people said goodbye, it wasn’t always forever. I always hoped you would come and take me back._

_As I healed, so did my heart. Or so I thought. But still, I waited and as years went by, I thought what I would give just to hear your voice again._

_The day I saw you at the shop I couldn’t believe it. I was so happy to see you. I hope you know that.’_

 

 

Years had passed and Yixing was here again. It seemed too astonishing to be mere coincidence. 

Sat across each other, there was a notable absence of the same carefree joy in his features. It was colder up north apparently. Was this winter’s doing? There was a tentativeness in the way they were speaking. Kyungsoo thought that it might be the strangeness of meeting in the daytime when so much of their memories together had been spent comfortable in the evening cold. 

Yixing never ceased smiling at him. “It’s so good to see you, Kyungsoo.”

“It’s good to see you too.” Kyungsoo replied as his heart opened up to the light again. He had waited and all the waiting had finally ended. There was an excitement in not knowing what was coming next. “Have you been back long?”

“Not long.” 

“Oh.”

“You were hard to find. I would’ve liked to see you sooner.” 

Kyungsoo lowered his eyes to his tea, frightened that the other would detect the hope creeping dangerously within it. 

But it never came for the true purpose of Yixing’s visit was swiftly revealed. “... Kyungsoo… I came to see you because there might be things you will hear about me in the coming weeks.” He began with a sigh, “I don’t know when or what form it will take. But I wanted you to know that I’m _innocent._ I didn’t do it. They’ll think what they think and you have to let them think it but… I wanted to warn those who I know… that whatever happens… it wasn’t me…” 

“Yixing, what in heavens are you--”

“Just say you’ll think twice. When the time comes.”

Kyungsoo took a deep breath and nodded a few times.

“I do. Of course.” 

The other man smiled, but it was comparably sadder this time. “Good.” And then he reached for Kyungsoo’s hands, “Time may have changed our hearts, but you will always be my flower, Kyungsoo.” 

When his hand slipped away, Kyungsoo realised that he’d been given a key. 

This was when the fear of what was to come truly struck. Tears candidly rolled from his eyes to the white tablecloth as he recognised it to be the key to their shared apartment. 

“It was your home too.” Yixing said. 

Kyungsoo shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t,” he murmured before wiping his eyes and stating, “Yixing I have to go--I can’t do this--”

And then he left him this time, unable to stay and hear more.

 

_‘...What I meant by that was that you were my home, my love. Not the four walls we shared. You and the arms that held me through those terrible winter nights._

_I have the key but I haven’t yet gone. I’ve been too scared of the memories._

_I would probably sit there and end up wondering if we had ran away together, what a life we would be living now. And I don’t think my heart is strong enough to carry such hopes._

_Not now.…’_

 

 

 

He was supposed to sing for his cousin’s birthday. The chosen hymn was _A Summertime Ball_ , his uncle’s favourite. But the singer had asked his anticipating guests a few minutes more to prepare.

Kyungsoo stood in the second-floor bathroom, poised and perfect in his tuxedo with his hair lightly brushed by gloss and spray. Across him, in the pearly white sink, was a spattering of blue petals. 

It had started last night, giving him time to diagnose the symptom -- but it didn’t make it any less shocking.

_“To be together, at a summertime ball,_ ” Kyungsoo sung, tearful, as he took a petal and held it to the light, sensing another rise from his throat, _“How beloved I would feel, to dance in the summertime with you…_ ”

Behind him, the music played softly-- unfeelingly. 

 

 

_‘I think I was given love to be punished. And I do not regret anything I have done in pursuit of it. But I am hurting, my love. I am hurting each day and each night for you. But I will fight it as you should._

_I want to hold you in the summertime once again. Until then, I can only ask for your forgiveness._

_Yours._  
Forever,  


 

 

 

 

 

The book was lowered to the desk. Night had fully fallen since he started to read. The author twirled in his chair, an unlit cigarette between his lips as he listened to music alone in his study. At some point he stood and took a sweeping look over the sleeping landscape. There was smoke in the distance-- and behind that, probably a whole lot of dancing from the community house. He was too far away to hear the music so he pretended like his own were their serenades. A cheery tune; remote from the dejected words on the pages of Kyungsoo’s book. 

During the following day, he sent the book back to Kyungsoo, alongside a copy of _Blue_ and a note of his own. 

The note read,

 

 

_‘Love should never be a punishment._

_Love, in all its forms, should always be salvation._

_I shouldn’t have read it. I have sent along an unread text of mine in return. Call me when you are ready and I will apologise profusely._

_Yours,  
Chanyeol.’_

 

 

 

 

 

An unusually bad spell of rainfall became the prime subject of the following week. In seven days, Chanyeol managed to complete a mere dozen pages for his screenplay. Junmyeon also used a pre-scheduled brunch to yell at him about the dismaying _Times_ interview with Minseok. Sehun also revealed in that week that he would be away at the Foreign Office and would only be taking dinner offers and emergency calls until he was freed.

The seven days concluded slowly but easily. It was the sort of familiar and lacking week that the author had needed after such an exhausting month. Routine embraced him with its familial chores and tick-boxes and whilst his muse continued to wilt-- lambasted by the monsoon-like downpours -- life moved on and pulled Chanyeol right along with it. 

No news came from the trial so Chanyeol resisted calling the singer for he had no reason to do so. 

In his absence, the author could only admit to being very despondent and underwhelmed. His oldest sister commented on the greyness in his appearance. She recommended him some European supplements that apparently gave the Nordic boys the rosy cheeks they were so appraised for. He tried one; then three, and showered them all down with a shot of warm bourbon. He did that a few times -- enough that he started to dream about gothic European architecture. 

But on the night that the rains finally ended, Chanyeol received the call he had been waiting for. 

 

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (19:35)**
    
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
        I’ve been thinking about what you said.
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**
              Good evening to you too, Kyungsoo.
                 Long time no speak.
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
              It hasn’t been that long.
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**
              Time flies when one has to write about it.
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
           I can imagine.
    
    
    
    [ _A long pause. The line crackles._ ] 
    
    
              **KYUNGSOO**
              I missed your voice.
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
             You could’ve called any time.
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
          How could I? After what happened… 
         And you… reading what I wrote for him… 
          You know so much more now…
         I can’t face you.
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
        So everything was true?
    
     
        **KYUNGSOO**
    Down to the punctuation.
         
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
       When hearts break, it’s rarely just the one.
       You can’t blame yourself for all of it. 
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
    I had love and I let it go.
    And now it won’t come back but I’m still here.
    I may lose him forever.
    But where should my love go?
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
    [ _sighs_ ].
    What can I say to make it easier?
    Tell me. I’ll tell you anything. 
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
    Why did you send me the book?
    
    
    [ _A long pause. The line crackles._ ] 
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    So… you read it?
    What… what did you think?
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
    You stained my fingers blue,
    Now all I see is you-- 
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    Terrible.
    
    
          **KYUNGSOO**
    [ _shaky_ ] Beautiful, Mr. Best-seller.
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    I--
    
    
          **KYUNGSOO**
    I haven’t stopped reading it since I got it--
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    The reason for--
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
    If I could write half as well as you could--
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
    Thank you but you really must--
    
    
        **KYUNGSOO**
    The words are so--
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
    Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo-- please.
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
    Yes. I’m sorry.
    
    
          **CHANYEOL**
    The pieces. The collection… they were written… 
    Well…
    I wrote them… uh… 
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
    Thank you.
    I know.
    
    
        **CHANYEOL**
    Oh.
    
    
       **KYUNGSOO**
    Can I see you soon?
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    Tonight if you wish it.
    
    
         **KYUNGSOO**
    I do.
    Would an hour or so suit you?
    
    
         **CHANYEOL**
    Sure.
    
    
           **KYUNGSOO**
    Till then.
    
           
    
    
      **OPERATOR HAS DISCONNECTED YOUR CALL
               (19:45)**
    

The author welcomed his guest to a rather frantically re-arranged apartment with all its week’s messes tucked into random nooks. Chanyeol welcomed Kyungsoo in with an overly-happy smile and offered to take his coat -- all without saying a single word-- too uncertain if he was meant to say anything or if he was to wait. Kyungsoo appeared with a neutral face, obliging to his wordless requests like the frequently invited guest that he was.

Chanyeol took his scarf away- and it was there that the singer stepped forwards and embraced him.

“Why are you acting strangely?” Kyungsoo asked, voice bemused, “It was a week-- and we barely fought.”

“I sent you an unedited collection of prose out of impulse. Forgive me for being anxious,” was the author’s counter as he embraced him back. Kyungsoo felt smaller in his arms than the last time they had done this at their first reunion of the new year. Or perhaps it was Chanyeol’s brain conjuring tricks as it sought threads in order to observe him further -- and hold him closer. 

“You’re such a writer,” Kyungsoo retorted before looking up at him with a smile, “Did you really write all those wonderful things about me?”

A peck of heat bloomed on Chanyeol’s cheeks as he nodded his head. The intensity of the other’s stare was impossible to lie to. All of a sudden he couldn’t use his words as carelessly as he used to. It was a week and they had barely fought but already it felt like so much had changed. 

“So you saw the doctor,” continued the singer as his arms dropped to his side, “and what did he say?”

“You have to manage it-- or you may not make it past Easter,” Chanyeol shared honestly.

“Easter.” Chanyeol watched as the reality reflected on the other man’s eyes. For something so shocking, he admitted it with almost a laugh, “-- and there I was, reading the paper the other day, and the punters are all saying that our summer might be the hottest yet…” 

They lingered by the door. It was shocking how similarly their positions were from a week ago. It almost felt like this was the conversation that should’ve followed had everything gone to plan. Chanyeol held onto Kyungsoo’s scarf tightly as he watched the other contemplate, drawing all that he’d said into himself. 

“... I’ll care for you,” murmured the author, “If you manage it, I’ll do all that I can to help.”

Kyungsoo smiled. There was a knowing edge in his expression as he circled his shoe around a spot on the floor and replied,

“You’ve done so much. Too much.”

“I’ll do more if you let me.” 

Lacking his usual hesitance, the author stepped across the space and took the other’s hand right into his own. Kyungsoo didn’t flinch and merely allowed him, despite the strike of shock in his eyes.

Chanyeol gulped his nerves down. “Let me, Kyungsoo.” He said, “Please.”

He proposed it like a vow-- and whilst the promise remained unsaid, there was a sense that Kyungsoo knew exactly what he’d placed on the table. And he regarded it with a wary silence, one that Chanyeol feared, as he spoke again with the same disconnected voice.

“I told myself I wouldn’t trust handsome men and their promises anymore,” Kyungsoo mumbled, eyeing where their hands were connected, “ _and_ it would be so cruel for me to let you..”

Chanyeol felt the other pull back. His hand consciously tightened around the fingers before loosening as he saw the shock in Kyungsoo’s face re-appear. Then, the fingers returned, and it was the singer who edged closer as he looked up into the other’s eyes and smiled a heartbreaking smile.

“Whilst the flowers are here… my heart is his,” Kyungsoo said. 

“And my heart is yours,” admitted the author, sensing his gaze tremble as he felt Kyungsoo’s other hand hold his cheek, “It has been for a while now.”

“I’m _sorry_...”

“Don’t be. You are so lovely to love.”

“Don’t say such things,” Kyungsoo scolded with a shake of his head.

“But it’s true. You’ve brought romance back into my life. Your eyes… your voice… your flu-curing stews…” 

The singer fell silent.

“If I lose you now, then… ” the author smiled, “Know that you’ve conquered the impossible and brought the necessary summertime to my heart. And I am the _luckiest_ author in the city to have written for you…” 

“I’m the lucky one, not you,” whispered the other, “To have you…” 

“You have me, _so much_ of me, Kyungsoo.”

“How come?”

“God knows.”

“ _Tell me_.”

“I cannot.”

The singer’s finger brushed across his upper lip. “You’re just as blue as I am aren’t you, Chanyeol?”

Nodding in reply, Chanyeol indulged in the touch he wasn’t entitled to have, having said what he wanted to. He leaned against the other’s cold hand, eyes barely open, vaguely aware of how much closer the singer had become. How lucky the other man must have been, he thought bemusedly, to have come home to such loving touches all those years ago. 

His eyes fluttered open, revealing a singer, wretched and in tears. Their stances changed-- with Chanyeol pulling him closer and his hand reaching upwards to stroke the other’s face where it rested delicately against his chest. Before long, they were embracing simply once again.

Thunder grumbled commandingly from above them. Chanyeol looked up at the ceiling and then across the hallway window where the splatter of rain began its violent raging again. When he looked back, Kyungsoo’s attention was firmly fixed on him. The sound of the rain thickened, battering every window and wall, consuming every sense aside from-- _touch_. It was a cleansing sort of harmony; and as Chanyeol brushed the faint traces of tears away away from the other’s eyes, he smiled as the other smiled and leaned against his touch, just as he had. 

The author’s apartment was sheltered from the night and completely safe. The rains and the cold wouldn’t reach them here. Kyungsoo’s hands had grown warm and Chanyeol would take full advantage of them as their lips edged closer and they kissed, lightly, restrainedly, but with all the flustered want of a rekindled romance. It was _surprising_ but it felt quaintly comfortable -- romantic even.

“No flowers?” asked Chanyeol, as their kiss ended.

Kyungsoo shook his head after a moment, expression touched with the faintest discomfort before Chanyeol took his face into his hands and kissed him again, dissolving it. The singer reached for him too, intensifying the kiss with purposeful touches, and beneath it, the author sensed his hopes grow. Nourished by the rain that shielded them. 

The downpour persisted all through the night as they spent it alternating between slow kisses and fast talks. It ended as it had started -- ambiguous but with a promise of purpose. Kyungsoo retired to the guest bedroom in the early hours of the morning and Chanyeol fell asleep in his own bed. 

The author slept restlessly. Deeper into the night and he was promptly awoken by a nightmare-- that of waking up in the morning with his own throat stuffed full of huge blue petals, leaving him unable to scream out for Kyungsoo who was lost and beyond his reach.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi guys! long time no speak! happy 2019 i hope you're all doing well. so just as a way of explaining - i really thought of abandoning this story but after some thinking (and re-reading), i honestly have such a soft spot for it. there is so muuuch of this story left to tell, and i'm so desperate to tell it. i feel so much for them. for ficpcy especially. he's a poppet.
> 
> so do bear with me as i continue to try and share this little story bubble that lives inside my lil brain! thank you for reading and always being kind. 
> 
> keep warm this january and be well always exo-ls!


	5. If I Give My Heart To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [warnings; general distressing content, mentions of potential m+ content but very light touch, the 'capital punishment' side of this story arises in this chapter as well. 
> 
> um. this is very long. so settle in w a tea and a snack or something c:]

-

 

“This!” 

Junmyeon hit the thin swathe of manuscript pages with his left hand like a furious conductor. The paper swiped against hollow air before landing next on the author’s head.

“You’ve barely got a speck of time before the deadline and _this_ is what you give me!” 

Chanyeol was barely able to go through his apologies, his cheeks aching from how widely he was smiling. He allowed himself to be swatted at a handful more times before reaching for his friend’s cheek and planting an apologetic kiss on one-- and then the other. 

“I really will write more for you in the coming weeks…” he began, still smiling, “ _but_ I swear to you -- that these?” The author flicked the pages with his own hand. “The money is right here, Agent Kim!”

“They better be!” Junmyeon’s eyes, warm as they were on most occasions, had the innate ability to narrow to such a terrifying state of lethal disdain that Chanyeol often found himself forced into honesty - even when he was hesitant to be. “I’ll be reading _and editing_ all of these tonight.” 

The words were pronounced commitally with a sprinkle of a threat - but there was no doubting the hidden thrill behind such a premise. Ever since Chanyeol’s first published couplet as a freshman at their alma mater’s newspaper, the older man had been his key encourager and editor. He liked to think of himself as a bit of an expert when it came to his writing, and Chanyeol was happy to encourage him in this feat.

The agent kept a hold of the pages as they walked back into Chanyeol’s study which hosted a full house for the first time in a long while. Sehun was back from the Foreign Office, toying with a new governmental pen he’d thieved off an intern -- Jongin was freshly returned from a few weeks on the slopes -- and by the long chair, near the fire, sat a bright-eyed Kyungsoo who was listening intently to the conversations of the younger men locked in the middle of a yet unrevealed discussion about his work.

“Chanyeol,” Sehun began as he walked back into the room. “Jongin has been _dying_ to ask whether you had written the sex scene yet.”

The author’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” Sehun wet the tips of his fingers before flipping the pages of a copy of _A Tender Love_ he’d borrowed from Chanyeol’s desk, “There was a sex scene on page 232.”

A snicker came from somewhere but Chanyeol couldn’t tell from whom. He looked around, a little embarrassed as he finally settled on Kyungsoo who was very obviously concealing a laugh from behind the hand purposely resting on his lips. 

“An _implied_ sex scene,” sighed Chanyeol before throwing a look at Sehun as he beckoned for the book to be returned.

“But a sex scene nonetheless-- where is your film being made again? Hollywood yes?” The young Sehun feigned a yawn -- airy and long -- as he stretched his arm and handed the book back in the process, “ _Boring_. Hollywood is a drab. Why can’t we be more like Europe? European filmmakers are brave. They’re bold. All we ever get are…” The journalist wrinkled his nose as Junmyeon sat by him and pinched him in the earlobe, “ _Cleavages and bulges_.”

“Maybe the class of our industry is lost on big _modern_ boys like you, Sehunnie. But it is something we hold proud.” Chanyeol folded his arms as he leaned on the edge of his desk. “And anyway. If I _was_ willing to write one for the screenplay-- how can I when I barely wrote one in the book. What would be the point of it?”

“Oh, you’re part of the problem.” Sehun sighed, louder this time and looked across at Kyungsoo, “as I was saying, sport, writers _like Mr. Park_ and filmmakers within Hollywood are obsessed with the pretty side of sex. They align this raw, brutal and frankly _beautiful_ practice encompassing the connection of the ethnologic and the spiritual… to a meaningless celebration of hedonism. Ugh. That-- and _pantyhoses._ ”

“Pantyhoses will definitely feature now that you mention it,” Chanyeol teased, rolling his eyes as the younger man leaned his head back against the leather chair with a groan— akin to a teenager being scolded.

“I’m already seeing errors, Chanyeol!” interrupted Junmyeon as he swiped Sehun and his gripes away with a huff and another flap of the set of papers.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Junmyeon,” Jongin said with his usual unbothered tone, “ Can’t you tell he’s busy?”

“With what?” Junmyeon’s eyes were dark as the younger offered to take some of the manuscript to read.

“ _You know_!--!” Jongin’s eyes knowingly turned to Kyungsoo. His hands were almost there too -- almost, before he was briefly silenced by a timely cough from Sehun.

It was clear that this was a topic that did interest him as he sat up and twined his hands together in a statuette pose. “That’s the other thing,” sighed the journalist, “Are you two in a relationship?” Sehun’s severe tone was broken by the kind smile he expressed as he looked at Kyungsoo, “Don’t worry sport. Outside of our circles, we don’t gossip.” 

It was the end of February - blessed - on a leap year of all years. Two weeks exactly, on this day, Kyungsoo had woken up in Chanyeol’s guest bedroom and following a plain and early breakfast that they shared, Chanyeol asked there and then if he would be _his_ and the other looked up and listened. It was a smooth proposal, with an implication that everything else Chanyeol could’ve said had already been said -- through the kisses, the kindness, the _promise_ that he would do everything he could if he let him. 

 

_“Let you do what, Chanyeol? What do you want to do?”_

_“Everything… but you have to let me.”_

_“I—“_

_“I want to do it.”_

 

 

Overwhelmed, Kyungsoo had nodded and then lightly laughed, providing the author with a teasing glimmer of the rising sun that morning. They had been contained in a strange but happy state since. Not quite the floaty haze that surrounds a couple in an early stage of a relationship -- for they came to the joint realisation that they had been wading that line invisibly for a much longer time. 

“We… well.” Chanyeol looked across at Kyungsoo who reassured him with a soft nod. “We are.” He said with more conviction and a sense of pride he hadn’t yet indulged in the short time that passed. 

The room tensed -- in the same way that a person does when drawing a breath. But then it unwound, and yielded, and lifted to a calmer state altogether by the shared smiles of both Sehun and Jongin. 

“What do you want us to do? Clap?” Junmyeon sulked in contrast, still on the manuscript which prompted Kyungsoo to laugh. 

“Junmyeon!” Sehun and Jongin scolded before they sent the pair their jovial congratulations through an ironic round of applause. They were more than happy to share that it had been a dreadfully long while since Chanyeol had dated -- with Sehun making a sly joke of whether as his new boyfriend, the singer could inspire him to be more creative in his erotic works.

The meeting ended before dinnertime and when they left, Chanyeol wrote in his study until late into the night. 

On the other hand Kyungsoo left his apartment and ran his chores in the city before returning much later. It was part of an unspoken routine they had began to institute in the few weeks since their relationship began. The author, who dwelled and worked effectively in the night, would be left in peace whilst the singer -- would return to him in the passing hours to ensure that exhaustion hadn’t claimed him before his typewriter.

In the days that spanned between, they were their usual selves, storytelling, sharing - and on three occasions, Chanyeol had taken Kyungsoo out-of-town to see Dr. Kim for consultations. Each time he was taken for his private procedures the author had kissed the singer’s hand before letting him go; and he’d only realised that he was doing such a thing when the other returned to him and did it in return.

This was how it was. As one drifted, the other pulled back. Tonight as Chanyeol lamented over his re-written segment, with his head gracing the desk and nose dangerously close to a dirty ashtray, he was reminded of the world outside of the ghostly reek of tobacco as gentle hands placed themselves on his shoulders and squeezed comfortingly.

“Your hand will cramp again if you write too much,” Kyungsoo said, lacking sternness as the author looked around and smiled. 

“I was rewriting a part Junmyeon really hated.” Chanyeol explained before he tilted his head and smiled at the sight of the cluster of paper bags on the coffee table. It was certainly some type of foodstuff to get him through the next few quiet work-riddled hours.

“Oh? Why did he hate it?” 

“He thinks I’m re-writing the scene too much. It’s draining it of meaning.”

Kyungsoo was curious about that. He scanned the page with his eyes, murmuring the words beneath his breath. The author watched him, content in the innocent pleasure of it, having lost much of the insecurity that he used to have about the other reading his work in the time they had spent together doing exactly that. 

“I’ll read it with you,” urged Kyungsoo, “Which part is it?”

“Uh, it’s early on. Sejong talking to Minhee about their friends.” 

“Give it to me.”

Living out the scene through a reading turned out to be the most effective way to explore his writing’s success -- and Kyungsoo was far becoming his most useful critic and pseudo actor. It was particularly helpful that the book and its scenes were already familiar to him. The singer was brutally honest — even more so than Junmyeon and Chanyeol was certain that he would not be spared today. “Okay. I’ll be… uh, Sejong. And you’ll be…” The singer smiled as the author laughed, “Minhee.”

They commenced their reading. Largely monotonous but jittered by the occasional chuckle, Chanyeol recognised how the effect of words seemed truly different once it was acted out. Certainly there was an insecurity in hearing them said aloud, a sense of disconnection forming where the voices didn’t seem to fit the tone. But as the awkwardness went away, there arose an enjoyment in being able to share this moment with Kyungsoo.

“ _I won’t be able to forgive you if you leave me like that._ ”

“ _I won’t then_ ,” Chanyeol read in return, turning the page to confirm it was the last. “ _I’ll stay._ ”

“Good.” Kyungsoo lowered the page to the table, still smiling as he fell quiet to contemplate, presumably his opinion on the writing. But he surprised the writer by stating instead —“There’s a kiss scene,” —in a matter-of-factly way.

“Pardon?” The author asked, blinking a few times. 

“In the book,” Kyungsoo clarified. “The chapter ends with a kiss scene.” 

“Oh.” He was right of course. It did. “I haven’t written that part yet.” There was a noticeable blush on the author’s cheeks now, shadowed by the dark of the room, as Kyungsoo smiled wider and nudged him.

“You’re blushing bright.”

“I’m embarrassed.” The author mumbled.

“Oh.” The singer scoffed. “You’re too old to be bashful, Mr. Park.” 

The author shook his head and placed his head in his hands, feeling flushed, drunk, as the singer laughed and attempted to peel his hands away. It was embarrassing (although in hindsight he had been rather proud of that particular kiss scene.)

“Finish the scene, Mr. Park!”

“No!”

Chanyeol surrendered, of course, and it was in the course of their lips finding home in each other’s that their wonderful moment was stolen by a series of hard raps on the front door. “I’ll get it,” the author said with a sigh, as he left and opened the door to a special post-delivery. 

He received the letter and concurrently tensed at the sound of Kyungsoo dashing behind him by at a fast pace through the corridor.

His actions were fast. Shutting the door quickly and leaving the letter on the nearest surface, he approached the bathroom and watched in horror as Kyungsoo coughed into the sink, pained, the cloud of blue petals almost spilling over the ceramic. Letting all his thoughts fall away, Chanyeol attended to his side and helped him -- held him-- and as the other struggled, he played his part and _let_ him. 

The episodes rarely last long. Within minutes, Kyungsoo was as calm and as solid as before, murmuring apologies into his ear as he embraced him. But this time, they remained longer on the bathroom tiles, if only to wait until Chanyeol’s own heartbeat had settled. 

By the time the author returned to eat his dinner, and continue on his work, the food was inevitably cold - and in the distance, he heard the sound of the other’s soft cries behind closed doors.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March welcomed the infant signs of springtime. A host of colours bloomed from the meadows, dripped from the ends of boughs, and the sun -- regal in its fixture, observed humanity with a wide and clear eye.

On his usual Sunday walk, Chanyeol found himself particularly taken by the birds that newly repopulated the parks of the West Square after their winter migration. It had been so long since he last saw blackbirds and wrens, flitting between branch to branch, taking advantage of the budding spring blossoms and fresh cool air. It was a sight to marvel; the return of the city’s most beloved residents. On his left, Kyungsoo walked along with him, silent in his usual observing state, but admiring of everything the author wished to point out.

They circled the cathedral once and even managed to catch the afternoon service mid-homily. After peeking through the glass, and having a whispered conversation about the exact material of the clergymen’s robes, the pair strolled away with the faint hum of the choir trailing after them. Together they settled on a bench by the fountain where they were afforded the sight of people emptying the cathedral in their church best moments later. Chanyeol was less bothered, used to the whole visual, more entertained by the bird feed he’d tucked in his pocket which he scattered generously for the often ignored pigeon population of the square. 

The flock of pigeons were voracious and fast in their approach, almost as if they had expected him to come. Kyungsoo helped him litter the seeds until the bag was a quarter empty. And then the author relaxed, scooting back into the bench, as he lit a cigarette and focused on the wind tickling his bare arm, uncovered by his short sleeve.

“Are you okay?” He looked at Kyungsoo -- who he had asked to walk with him for reasons other than the fact that it was a Sunday afternoon and he was craving the smell of fresh lawns. 

Kyungsoo looked at him. 

“The first trial session of Yixing’s appeal will be in less than two months.” Then he sprinkled some of the feed on his side of the asphalt, showing little recognition of the heart of the question asked as he stared solemnly at the flutter of dark wings below his feet.

“I heard.” Chanyeol had been the one to tell him. He surmised that the other must have simply forgotten.

Since receiving the news, Kyungsoo had retreated into himself. Naively, the author had believed that taking him out into the wider world would help soothe him. There was nothing that a dose of spring sun couldn’t cure— at least that had been the theory. “How do you feel about it?” He scraped the cigarette dead against the wood of the bench. “That’s a silly question. Don’t answer it if you don’t want to. I don’t mind.”

The singer’s expression during these times often materialised as mysteriously as figments in a night fog. He would initially appear considerate, but then a thought would surface that would draw him tight until he seemed almost _strict_ \-- and then he’d mellow out, but by then the author was left feeling like he had learned all he needed to. 

“It’s really you that I should be asking,” was the singer’s answer as he placed the empty feedbag on his lap. 

“Why me?” Chanyeol returned with a shrug. “There’s nothing to ask about. My feelings haven’t changed.”

A smile was Kyungsoo’s counter to his confidence as they were left to ruminate, albeit separately, on what had occurred that morning. The petals -- the familiar slew of blue -- that had made a mess over the kitchen countertop after a surprising episode. Chanyeol had made a light joke of it, keen not to show how deeply his heart ached as the singer apologised, breathless, almost close to a faint as he’d swept the mess away in haste and shame.

The trial was in two months but the tribulations had long commenced before it. Yet it remained true that the author’s stance hadn’t moved. He had seen so much of the petals that they didn't’t frighten him like they used to.

“I guess it’s just me then,” Kyungsoo said, showing residues of his usual self as he smiled at the other. 

“Just you-- what?”

“Just me, whose feelings have changed.” 

The meaning of that was left at an odd impasse, but not for very long. Chanyeol wasn’t sure when the last time he was kissed in the park at springtime occurred— but he was certain that never had his heart felt as it had now, as when the singer kissed him on his lips and robbed his thoughts of all his adoration for the rebirthed scenery. He felt it, that dangerous rumble, that yet unvoiced love, pooling warm and true in the centre of his beating chest. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A portion of Chanyeol’s early springtime chores belonged to meeting with Sehun and relaying all the fears and concerns he had about his screenplay which he couldn’t share with Junmyeon as his agent. In return, he allowed the younger man to air his complaints about a multitude of things -- sourced from his vast and very interesting life. This was the downfall of being a well-educated man in the apex of a mass of connections, for one often risked exposure to a great many things that could easily lead to unnecessary upset. And sweet sensitive Sehun was a natural player and fallen soldier to the same cause. 

Today however, as they met at Sehun’s favourite daytime bar, the woes of the journalist’s encounters did not take the center stage of their conversation. Instead, the younger man revealed an old forgotten relic — one that Sehun had found fortuitously following a recent family event. Sehun produced the object across the table, wrapped in thin glossy tissue, and presented it as a gift. The author received it graciously.

It was a photograph album with a beautiful rose woollen outer cover. Expecting it to be empty, his eyes widened as he searched through the stiff folios and found himself introduced to neatly laid out photographs -- a pair with one set above the other. The pictures were from a past wedding party -- but from far before his own time. He looked closely at the unfamiliar faces, fascinated by the clothing, the styles, but also keen to spot what exactly Sehun had planted until he found it.

“Papa!” Chanyeol called out, as gleeful as a child as he gazed in wonder at his grandfather’s face -- much younger than the one in his memories but the same all the while. 

“He was at my Aunt Minny’s wedding.” Sehun smiled widely, “There’s a few! I wanted to show you in case you wanted to take them.”

“I couldn’t,” gasped the author before spotting one depicting his grandparents seated together at a table and realising that this was one photograph he couldn’t morally give away. 

Especially when it portrayed his grandmother in such a wonderful light. Chanyeol’s own memory of his grandmother was blurry at best but he recalled vividly the stories that his grandfather shared of her before her illness set. The loveliness of her voice; the warm genuinity of her smiles; and most resonantly, the love she had for those around her. She was, as women often were, the fiercest warrior of the Park family. The one that held everyone together through the wars; and bravely weathered the many storms that came after when hopes and homes needed to be rebuilt. It was his grandfather’s admiration for her that Chanyeol would never forget. The one that echoed right through the aftermath of her sad death. 

He saw it clearly in the way that he stared at her in the photographs. The wedding party existed -- with its noisy and eye-catching spectacles but still, his grandfather’s expression was frozen into one of pure joy and wonder at the beloved lady that he held on one arm. 

“I always wanted what they had.” Chanyeol said after a moment, eyes misty, as he brushed the residues of dust that had gathered over the edges of the aging photos. “He loved her so much.” The memories were returning and swirling -- of being sat on his grandfather’s study and idly eyeing their photographs propped proudly on the walls and tables of the huge room. As a young boy he used to sit back against his elbows with his body planted against the carpet and allowed his grandfather to retell their lives together. 

—of the beautiful daughter of a financier he had met by accident on the way to a job interview. She had been crossing the road in the city and had panicked over a lost purse. Out of complete chance he bumped into her, dropping his new copy of a _Wordsworth_ collection into the mud. “ _That was the moment, Chanyeollie.”_ His grandfather shared with his grumbly kind laugh, “ _She looked into my eyes. Demanded that I apologised-- and picked that damn muddy book right from the floor! Oh I knew I had met my match!”_ He complied to her demands— he apologised, helped her to file a police report for her purpose and took her home.

Despite its initial spontaneity, their connection always reflected back to Chanyeol as a simple and ensuing kind of love.

Only now of course, as an jaded young man, that the author realised that it had probably been far from it. It was as intricate and nuanced as any other life story. But theirs had ended happily and Chanyeol had been fortunate to have heard and appreciated the reality of both in his close family. 

“Well, they certainly don’t make it like them anymore.” Sehun said with a laugh, before distantly adding, “Or perhaps it’s _us_ that refuse to make it like them anymore. What do you think? Is it our fault or theirs?”

“Ours of course,” the author returned, setting his gaze wider now to study the faces of the wedding couple that were captured making jovial conversation with a table in the adjacent photograph. The groom was in a crease-less tuxedo, wine glass in one hand as he held the bride who held onto his waist, stunning, in her classic form-fitting gown. They were surrounded by a cacophony of flowers. Chanyeol had attended so many weddings and it was always the same. Happy- with a dash of the floral. 

Truly it was one of the greatest mysteries in the world. How could so much _wrong_ come from what was a day that universally overflowed with joy?

“We both come from broken homes,” Sehun said. “Honestly, it’s a miracle we managed to even form coherent relationships. Especially you. After what your father--”

Chanyeol laughed and shook his head, suggesting that there was no need to press forward. “We carry it don’t we?” he said instead after watching his friend’s expression diminish into one of unquizzable sadness. 

“Hm?”

“The weight of our parents’ failures.” 

Chanyeol’s father had been a cheat and a disappointment. He wasn’t the first or the last to be the child of this set class. If anything it was the one tangible thing he could claim that put him in the same rank as an average man. Irrespective of the wealth and the weight of his name, he was still one of the faceless group of boys who grew up, still haunted to this age by the memory of seeing his father leave home and his mother distraught by the empty space he left.

Sehun lifted his cup in a faux toast. “And if we’re not careful,” he trailed, “That same weight will crush us too.”

“Amen.” The author said with a smile as they toasted. 

Outside, the scuffle of the afternoon traffic began and as Chanyeol looked out into the city, he thought of his grandparents’ chance meeting in the streets. It could’ve happened not very far from where they were at that moment. 

It was magical to consider how all it had taken to spark that entire life journey was: a _moment_. In a city where a million and one moments were happening all at the same time, the world gave them one to share and they took it with the courage of a soldier on a chaotic battlefield.

Then it occurred to him, prompting the author to privately smile, when he realised how he’d met Kyungsoo in a similar way. It had been a gloom of foreign voices and lights; but there, in that moment, he’d seen him. And he’d been trying to be just as courageous ever since.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dr. Kim was understandably neutral in their consultations. Each time Kyungsoo’s coughing episodes attained a certain count, Chanyeol was obliged to take the singer to the clinic-- something which Kyungsoo found particularly frustrating. This was of particular importance because ever since the news of Zhang Yixing’s trial, Kyungsoo found himself coughing more frequently. 

“I don’t think it has progressed as much as we think,” Dr. Kim revealed to them, which prompted Chanyeol to smile in relief as the singer remained silent but clearly emotional. “But Kyungsoo--” the doctor’s voice was lightly tarnished with a sigh, “If there is anything that changes. Please be wary of it. And inform us.”

“I would of course.” Kyungsoo said, gaze hovering low.

“Thank you.” The doctor then offered a file their way. “Here’s the information about the surgical procedure we spoke about. Again. This is just something I read about. I am providing it as a point of interest.” 

It was the author who obtained the file because it was something that _he_ found interesting. While he had no doubt that it would never come down to such a severe choice of medical resolution, he was determined to be knowledgeable about everything. If only to ensure that he was providing the singer with all the options he required to make his own right decision in the future. 

After a snappy read of the file, the author found himself even further convinced of his own strategy. Not only was the procedure highly complicated, and performed on patients that did not exhibit the symptoms of Kyungsoo’s specific syndrome, it was critiqued with the seriousness of its potential complications. Reading about it frightened him, and knowing that it would frighten Kyungsoo, he repressed the urge to speak about it. 

Between them, they had an unsung plan and it would work so long as they wished it to. Chanyeol held Kyungsoo’s hand through every consultation, convinced that he would never let it worsen; that the choice to go down such a path would never have to present itself. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The month endured and through its midway point, Chanyeol became consumed by the task of finishing off his screenplay. Stacks of pages were forced into thick hefty manilla envelopes, delivered by hand to the agency-- and sent back for re-editing. This became Chanyeol’s daily round. While the rest of the city roused to life and enjoyed the developing spring, he watched it all in isolation from behind the glass, with a cigarette in hand and fingers stained with typewriter ink and coffee.

It was night now. Chanyeol always knew it was night -- not because of the lack of light, due to his curtains being partially drawn most-days, but because of the sudden quiet that falls onto the outer streets. The differences became so stark when one was resigned to sit in one place everyday. A new consciousness grows, beyond that of typical expectation. 

At the sound of the study’s door closing behind him, the author halted his typing. He looked around and met the gaze of the soft-eyed singer who expressed a timid smile in the dark, caught in the act as he intended to place a tray of hot drink and sweets without disturbing the other in his labour.

“It’s late.” Kyungsoo said as he beckoned to the tray. It contained all that he could scavenge from the author’s peculiarly scarce kitchen pantry. A few finger biscuits and fresh coffee. “I thought you might want refreshments.”

“You’re not my maid, Kyungsoo.” Chanyeol said, playfully sighing in his chair before his face broke out into a wide handsome smile, “But thank you. That’s very kind. I-- I should love to take some time off but Junmyeon is on the phone every two hours asking if I’ve killed Sejong yet.” 

“Have you?” 

Shaking his head in response, the author departed his seat and beelined for the tray. He popped a whole biscuit in his mouth and crunched through it, much to the amusement of the singer who was quick to hand him the coffee cup to wash the item down.

“I have a long way to the end… but I still need to get there,” continued Chanyeol as he took a large gulp of the coffee. It was perfectly made. Just the way he liked it. Black-- with a swirl of cream and a half teaspoon of brown sugar. 

“Well I believe you’ll get there.” 

Kyungsoo offered the plate with the remaining biscuit and the other obliged. “You look hungry. Have you eaten?” 

“No.” The look on Chanyeol’s face suggested that this was a fact that had entirely flown over him. He couldn’t even remember whether he had stopped writing since Kyungsoo saw him last. The past few days had been such a well welcomed burst of energy and inspiration that he had fought distraction as best as he could— even at the expense of necessary mealtimes. He threw himself wholeheartedly into the task as a hunter to the chase; a dancer to the melody. It was spiritually satisfying but hard to explain for those who weren’t of the creative inclinations. 

This was obvious by the displeasure that then crossed Kyungsoo’s face.

“But.” Chanyeol interrupted the other before he spoke, “You’re not my maid _or_ my cook. So don’t even think for a second that you have to cook for me.” 

In the same sweet yet coy way that Kyungsoo tended to respond to him, the singer said,

“Well, too late.”

Chanyeol heard the sound of rumbling coming from the kitchen -- followed by the scent of simmering spice-- and as he fled out of his fog, he felt his breath cut at the sensation of Kyungsoo holding his cheek and murmuring,

“Go write. I’ll make us some food.” 

“Kyungsoo,” was his modest apprehending as the other echoed back his name. 

“ _Chanyeol_.”

They spent the rest of the night together. Full from the food, they lounged together in Chanyeol’s study-- the singer resting comfortably against his shoulder as he read through the evening’s efforts, as the author himself sat, watching the other, content with admiring the way he fitted so closely to him. Kyungsoo had brought music along with the food. They were listening to Vivaldi. There was now a growing stack of his records in the corner of the study for he brought a new one each time he came to visit. 

“I can’t wait to see it in the pictures. It’s going to be great. You’re casting it in a few weeks aren’t you?” Kyungsoo asked, looking up at him. 

“Yes.”

“It’s really exciting.”

“Speaking of exciting… Have you thought about my offer?” the author asked moments after, unsure if the other had fallen asleep. 

“About living here with you?” Kyungsoo asked.

Chanyeol couldn’t remember when he had last asked him, but he knew he had asked him multiple times. At least three times.

“I thought you were joking.”

This was received with a gasp. “No. I’m being absolutely serious. _Live with me._ I can take you to Dr Kim’s consultations… and you can help me write. When you’re here, I write so much more. Otherwise I just smoke, drink and call Sehun at his office -- oh and I don’t eat.” The author nodded his head, almost insolent as he huffed, “I really don’t.” 

For a moment, the author did conceive that he would be met with the same harmless but unhelpful silence that Kyungsoo had already offered as a response during his previous attempts. 

To mitigate Chanyeol had already prepared an argument to further swing the favour in his direction: the frequency of the singer’s visits, the aforementioned upstroke of positive writing when he was around the apartment-- and _his affections_ (naturally and selfishly). 

“I want to.” Kyungsoo’s initial answer was surprising. “ _But_.” 

Kyungsoo’s face shifted as he looked down at his hands and murmured, “I saw the letter -- by accident. It was open on your desk. The invitation to Baekhyun’s engagement party.”

This was the identity of the hand-delivered letter delivered many nights ago. The invitation that had been cursed to creep up on him regularly for something he had specifically chosen to disregard. He recalled taking it out a few weeks ago after drinking - if only to revalidate his decision to forego his attendance completely. He must have neglected to tidy it away in his busyness.

“I saw how it was coming up,” continued the singer, “I wondered if that had motivated it. If so, I don’t want-- to take advantage of your state of mind if you can understand. Moving in with people is a very big decision--”

Chanyeol was quick to reject all the implications with a wave of his hands - almost leaping out of the couch in process. “No. _No_! Absolutely not! I’m not even going to it.”

The singer gaped. “Why not?” 

“Why should I?”

Chanyeol sounded petulant and perhaps he looked it too for Kyungsoo laughed at him and touched his face in reassurance. “That’s not what I asked.” He hummed. 

“I don’t want to come,” was the best that the author could add as he offered the other a warmer smile, “but I _do_ want you to stay here.” 

The subject of the engagement party -- and the engagement that lived alongside it -- was set aside as Kyungsoo’s contemplations returned to the offer of a new home. A West Square apartment — prime real estate that some could only visit in their dreams. But truly it was Chanyeol that pined and Chanyeol that would benefit. 

“If I live here. I would have to bring my piano.” Kyungsoo said hesitantly, “And I can’t imagine you’d like that.”

“Nonsense!” the author clasped his hands together, “It would be an honour to hear you play night and day!”

The conversation continued with Chanyeol taking the author to the centre of the adjoining drawing room. Keen to make a show the author pushed all his unused and unloved furnishings to the side, making a flustered Kyungsoo laugh. “Here see!” he stood in the empty middle, perhaps even surprising himself at the amount of space that was now left in the room, “You’ll move your piano here-- and I’ll just use it as a coffee table when you’re not hosting lessons.”

In the natural way that only an author could, Chanyeol wove an image— a narrative— around himself that the singer seemed content to fall into. The singer with his pretty eyes looked around with wonder as if he already imagining his piano there, before resting his head against Chanyeol’s shoulder and murmuring, 

“I might distract you.”

“Everything distracts me.” The author shrugged, “And I welcome it.”

“If you live with me… uh, you might not like me as much.” 

That prompted the author to laugh. “Now _that_ , I really can’t entertain.” He lightly brushed the other’s face- “Just say you’ll think about it.”

“I will.” 

They kissed and ended up kissing further on the couch. It was the ringing of the telephone that eventually led Chanyeol to a disappointing pause. When he returned, Kyungsoo was sat poised and looking around at the room covered in bright light. 

“If I move in with you. Can I also get free writing lessons in exchange for my soup-making skills?” the singer asked, plainly serious - betrayed only by a glint in his eye. 

The author nodded with enthusiasm as he sat by him. 

He agreed to move in with him there and then. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

By the end of the week, Kyungsoo’s piano and a select few belongings had officially moved into Chanyeol’s drawing and spare bedroom. 

For the first few days, some predictable discomfort roused at the new company of another. Awkward run-ins between bathrooms and bedrooms being the most common and amusing. There were also the singing lessons that Chanyeol now had to host in his drawing room. It had to be said that the author took some quiet pride at the joyful surprise of the parents of Kyungsoo’s younger clientele when they recognised that the new venue of the lessons was the apartment of none other than one of the city’s most beloved authors.

The inaugural inelegance was swiftly smoothed out by Chanyeol’s sheer enjoyment at being around Kyungsoo so frequently. Soon enough he had pieced together the other man’s everyday life, satisfying the gaps that he used to wonder about, and revelling in the fact that their lives could tangle so effortlessly together. It was particularly special in the evenings when the moon was high, the city was comfortably quiet, and their remoteness from the outer world was as palpable as mist. These were the moments that Chanyeol held dear - when he would pause in wonder and hear the sound of Kyungsoo playing his melodies from the adjoining room. 

There were times when Kyungsoo would scold him - because he too would be listening to the typewriter sounds to monitor the author’s progress. But more commonly, the author would slip out of his room, exhausted from the prose and the eternal running of his own mind, and occupy a spare seat beside the singer. He didn’t stay very long most nights because he was aware of his deadlines and the pending call from Junmyeon to pester him. But on the occasional night, when he would truly feel low - when the day’s sunshine through his window was in sufficient in protecting him from a spiralling plunge of his energy, he would sit by Kyungsoo for hours _just_ to listen. 

And the singer would play his favourite melodies for him tirelessly. The sounds were always so pleasant - especially to the untrained ears. Any misplaced note or off-beat skip was lost in Chanyeol’s naivety. And he was thankful for it gave him a new narrative that was a whole different world from his own. An adventure in its own right. 

“That was for Daehyun’s solo. It’s from _La traviata_. She’s going to audition for their summer programme soon.” Kyungsoo said one night as Chanyeol nodded his head in excitement, having found that particular piece pleasant with its haunting quality.

“Time’s passing,” he continued, in the same comforting way that he said words that would’ve otherwise roused fear in the author-- “You’re going to finish that screenplay soon.”

“Thanks to you.” 

Chanyeol pressed a tired kiss to the singer’s shoulder. “I would’ve struggled without you here.”

Smiling tenderly, the singer began to play again - a slower melody this time. He played until the author was asleep. When Chanyeol awoke, he was on the couch, swaddled in blankets and the room was abandoned. But one long glance over the slightly open window was enough to lead his attention to the small scattered bundle of forgotten blue petals against the door on the opposing side-- distinct in their colour and profound enough in meaning for his tired eyes to stare until his eyes were stinging.

 

“Hi.” 

 

Then, the stinging fades, supplanted by the sight of the singer’s face appearing across him, more stunning than the light as he greets him with the sweetest good morning. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole city was enraged by the surprise of early April showers. People scattered around, furious and wailing, their lovely outfits blanched grey by the sudden downturn in the weather. Chanyeol was close to reverting to a similar state. He stood outside of the theatre, puffing frantically on his cigarette -- rescued only by the sight of the figure frantically crossing the street.

“I have it! I HAVE IT!” yelled Kyungsoo as he dashed across to the safety of the theatre’s sloped roof, pulling out the carefully sheeted manuscript from inside his thick jacket. 

“Thank you-- ah you’re my hero!” Chanyeol cried as he embraced Kyungsoo and peppered his cheeks with kisses until the other was pushing him away in embarrassment. This became a little more forceful when Junmyeon emerged from the front of the theatre, greeted Kyungsoo with a happy smile, before snatching the manuscript and using it to hit the forgetful author right on the ahead.

The agent’s nostrils flared as he spoke in a very determined voice over the street and rain noise. “YOU IDIOT!” he growled, “I can’t believe you aLMOST FORGOT THE SCRIPT ON CASTING DAY! I COULD’VE KILLED YOU! I REALLY COULD’VE KILLED YOU!”

“IT’S HERE ISN’T IT!” argued the author as he looked back at Kyungsoo who he swore he could’ve kissed again and again - whether the streets or Junmyeon approved of it. He couldn’t know - how wondrous he had been in his foresight. After recognising the abandoned manuscript on the floor of the apartment Kyungsoo had called Junmyeon at the theatre and questioned if it was something Chanyeol had intended to abandon in his wild panic to leave on time. After hearing Junmyeon’s uproar over the line, the singer opted to get to the theatre immediately, keen to elude any more spectacle on a very important day in the author’s life.

This was the culmination of a project that Chanyeol had worked interminably on for weeks on end. It really had been a long time. The author couldn’t even remember whether the air had always felt so jarring on his skin - so sharp and bristly.

Eventually the agent calmed and he urged him back into the theatre where they were ready to start the casting session. 

“Well, good luck then.” Kyungsoo said with a smile as he squeezed the other’s arm, looking with some disdain at the state of the showers.

“What?” Chanyeol narrowed his eyes and looked across at the increasing levels of mud and gutter water -- and then back up at the sky which showed no mercy, “Where are you going? You can stay if you like?”

“Huh? Oh-- no. I can’t.” 

“Why not?”

“Well… won’t I intrude?”

“You know this project just as well as anybody.”

The statement was completely true. Even in the final set of rewrites for _A Tender Love_ , Kyungsoo had scanned the material even before Junmyeon cast his expert eye on it. 

“Come on.” Chanyeol offered his hand and smiled broadly. “It will be an adventure.”

At the prospect, the singer seemed to understand exactly what he meant - as he always had - and bravely ventured forth with him. It was another limb of Chanyeol’s world that Kyungsoo was introduced to - but this time they would explore this new terrain together.

When they emerged, hours later, they were in high spirits. The project had been successful and as the author, Chanyeol was more than happy with the choices made by the film producers for the lead roles. 

Now they could enjoy the rest of the day. It was about a half-hour to the sun set - and the skies were pink and hushed - like a petulant child having calmed from a long tantrum. The two walked hand-in-hand on the gleaming pavement, silent but smiling, as the skies loomed above them, lending the rest of the motionless street a pretty glitter.

They passed by a florist who was readying to pack up her sale. Kyungsoo knew her and they spoke briefly. He mentioned how Chanyeol was celebrating something as he had achieved a huge success today. She offered him a pick of her stock for free. The author took his time to choose but inevitably he chose the daffodils -- still budded and closed, but recognisable in their shape. And then he insisted on paying her. 

When they returned home, Kyungsoo was visibly excited prepare for its care as the florist had instructed him. He selected its home to be the author’s study where its gorgeous and rich yellow blooms would nourish his spirit most in the nicest vase the author owned. Chanyeol watched the procedure keenly, as he read out with practiced ease,

 

“ _I wander'd lonely as a cloud  
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,  
When all at once I saw a crowd,  
A host of golden daffodils..._” 

 

He completed the four verse poem without skipping a single line. This action brought them right to the topic of poetry and writing and before they knew it, Kyungsoo was writing in his old notebook and Chanyeol was freely throwing out words and quotes hoping to inspire his student. In the end, the singer expressed a greater alignment to prose and pressed the author for book quotes— which he was less able to confidently cite. 

“Will you write a love story?” Chanyeol inquired as they rested on the floor of his study - a newly emptied bottle of wine between them as Kyungsoo, set on his belly, scribbled ideas noisily into his book.

“Maybe not. I will leave that to the experts.” 

The author smiled- and thought of something else.

“You’ll go with me to Europe, right?”

They were filming in southern Spain— with a possible commencement date in the coming month. Chanyeol had to come as the screenwriter - and despite all that was going to go on, he knew that he would extend the invitation to the singer.

“Europe?” Kyungsoo’s ears were a little red. Clearly it had surprised him but in a warm way. “Um. It depends on where. If it’s warm then probably.” 

“It will be.”

“I’ll go then. Who else will make your eggs the way you like it?”

Chanyeol smiled at the jest as he closed his eyes. He felt so calm suddenly - finally liberated from the task of screenplay writing to a deadline. This was the most free he had felt in weeks. He was sure that he would’ve fallen asleep if not for Kyungsoo’s intervention.

“Go to Baekhyun’s engagement party.” 

He opened his eyes and frowned. 

The party had been on everyone’s mind - especially at the casting where it became the point of discussion at the producer’s table. Chanyeol had evaded it entirely, choosing to laugh it off as everyone pointed out that him and the future groom were close friends once a time - but there was no avoiding what was such a significant event. Kyungsoo had clearly been affected by all the word of mouth too. 

“Why should I?” The tone Chanyeol used wasn’t spiteful. It was serious. In the same way that one answered a question where the answer was already well-affirmed. 

“It will be an adventure,” Kyungsoo echoed with such humility that Chanyeol couldn’t even be dismayed.

But he felt pressured, perhaps. The drunkenness didn’t help. The author fell quiet until the singer was easing close to his form, silently asking him what was wrong.

“I don’t think I can face him.” Chanyeol admitted.

“Of course you can,” said the singer before reaching for the author’s tired hands, “I’d say you already have.” His face inched close. “And I’ll go with you of course.”

There was no doubting the strength of the power that Kyungsoo held over the author. Chanyeol was kissing him before he’d even fully recognised the urge to. The attempt was clumsy but sobering, and in the feverishness of his kisses, the author suddenly remembered that this was all that had ever happened between them. Because the threshold -- to do _more_ had yet to be crossed. They were on the line most times - but never quite there. He didn’t mind most times. But this time — when the surge of emotions was rocketing at a level that he could barely hold himself — he felt the need to toe the line just a little. 

In thought, Chanyeol paused while Kyungsoo’s lips were still pressed against his. He then leaned back and looked at the other with a funny expression. Had he been sober, perhaps he would’ve worded his query better; or better yet he would’ve voided the urge to ask completely. For instead the author pronounced a loud and misplaced,

 

“Kyungsoo-- do you love me?”

 

And then: the embittered sense of reality. He was burying his head into his hands, swallowing down the wave of embarrassment that hit him as he groaned into his palms. 

 

“ _Chanyeol—_ “

“I’m drunk! I’m sorry! Please don’t answer…” 

 

At some point he must have cried, as evidenced by the marks of a runny nose on his crumpled shirt in the morning. He couldn’t be sure. The night ended in black — with that final moment suspended — alongside some remnant of his tearful apologies. The author would have certainly repeated the apologies in a more settled way, had the singer not greeted him in his kitchen with a tight and affectionate embrace. It endured long enough that the author began to forget why he had been so dismayed - only that he felt alleviated. 

He rested his head against Kyungsoo’s before the mouth-watering scent of sizzling eggs and vegetables overcame his attention. 

Chanyeol prepared the table as Kyungsoo served their breakfast. They sat together and spoke of their plans for the coming day in an ordinary way - with the author declaring his intent to send Baekhyun his acceptance of the invitation whilst the singer waved his notebook and promised that he would strive to finish his new short story. 

“Show me what you’ve written.” Chanyeol beckoned, mouth full-of-eggs as the singer shook his head and pulled the book closer to his person. 

“Not until it’s finished,” he hummed before smiling widely, “But if you wish to know it’s about a musician who lost his voice. And the angel who tried to help him get it back.”

Fiction. The need to know worsened.

“You’re torturing me. Please let me read it.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Pretty please Kyungsoo?”

“Rejected.”

The conversation was tossed back and forth for a while before they settled down on the same couch together and basked in the slow unravelling of the sunrise together, mystified and connected in their awe, as the skies broke open for the coming of a new day.

 

 

 

 

-

-
    
    
             **OPERATOR HAS CONNECTED YOUR CALL
                (16:35)**
    
    
    
         
    
              **CHANYEOL**
              Good afternoon Dr. Kim. 
               Thanks for calling. How are you?
    
    
           **DR. KIM**
             Chanyeol! Hello! I hope I’m not intruding.
             I’m well thank you. Just wanted to check in on how this week has been.
             Kyungsoo was supposed to take my call at your apartment but
             he wasn’t answering. 
    
    
              **CHANYEOL**
             Oh? 
    
    
           **DR. KIM**
           I reckon I just caught him at a bad time.
           But I wanted to speak to you anyway 
            before my duty ends.
           Just to catch up as I said.
    
           **CHANYEOL**
             Oh well. Thank you that’s very thoughtful.
             Everything’s good really.
             Kyungsoo-- he seems much healthier. 
              He hasn’t exceeded his count
             so that’s why we haven’t visited.
             He says he’s been sleeping well--
              eating well-- and
             well you know I keep an eye on him 
             and I haven’t been 
             worried about anything.
    
          **DR. KIM**
          Good! That sounds good! I’m glad to hear that.
    
    
      **CHANYEOL**
          Yeah. We’ve had a really great 
           couple of weeks together.
          Happy.
          He said that the other day. 
           He’s been really happy.
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
          That’s great to hear.
          But… just so I can clarify - 
         there are still episodes of the coughing?
    
    
    
      **CHANYEOL**
          Uh-- yes. But the normal amount. 
          He can manage it himself 
            and he drinks the tonic you prescribed 
              so his throat doesn’t get irritated as much.
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
          Alright, alright. 
         Well, that’s all I really wanted 
             to bother you about!
    If there’s nothing else you wanted to tell me,
        I will certainly get out of your hair!
    
    
      **CHANYEOL**
          Sure. I can’t really think of anything el-- 
          oh wait.
         Dr. Kim? There is something-- I-- yeah. 
         There is something.   
         Something you need to be aware of.
    
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
          What is it Chanyeol?
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
         It’s… well it’s the man. Kyungsoo’s man. 
         He’s having his trial next week. 
         I’m worried. 
          Kyungsoo’s even _more_ worried so
         it makes the worry worse.
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
          Oh. I’m-- 
    
    **CHANYEOL**
         Yeah. I don’t know. 
         We haven’t talked about it much. 
         But I’m aware that he might--
        You know. 
         I have hope that nothing won’t-- 
         But really Kyungsoo-- 
         whatever happens -- he’ll be distraught
         through that whole week. 
          Maybe more.
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
          And… how do you feel about that?
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
       I don’t know, doc. I really don’t know what to feel. 
       I _can_ say that I’m scared. 
         About the trial. About what happens after.
       I’m scared for him. 
       For the both of them. 
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
         Well. I’ll certainly be sure to keep in contact
          with you the next week.
        As you know, you can always contact me 
        if you need me at any point.
        You or Kyungsoo. 
    
    
    **CHANYEOL**
     Thanks doc. You’re a godsend.
    
    
    **DR. KIM**
         God bless you both.
    
    [...]
    
    

-

 

 

 

 

The ballroom of the renowned _Hotel Eve_ was decorated with the pervasive sparkle and loud brazen glamour of a presidential ball for Byun Baekhyun’s engagement party. 

Shining crystals dripped from the ceilings like melting silver wax, as entertainers wove through the crowds in various costumes and apparatus -- rushing to cross the enormous space to fill their slots on the sets of triangular podiums in the room. Their panicked runs were animatedly serenaded by a full house-band that played songs spanning mixes of genres and decades. From afar, the ballroom was glowing curiously, as if an enormous fire was manoeuvring in the middle of the company and creating a smoke screen enveloping the crowds - but in truth, the phenomenon stemmed from the flashes of what seemed like hundreds of cameras as the entirety of the West Square’s existing elite and their admirers flooded the room. 

“This is the most bizarre party I’ve ever been to,” Kyungsoo murmured as he walked with Chanyeol who was already being commanded by several sharp-eyed journos and distant friends to join their clusters - “It’s almost as if he’s invited the whole city to this thing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.” Chanyeol whispered in return before smiling, “As a Do, have you not had the pleasure of attending a Byun-led event? Their family is infamous for these shindigs. It causes quite the stir whenever anyone tries to one-up the Byuns in party-hosting.”

“Oh, I have heard that. But this is something else.”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a half-naked lady brushing past in shiny brassiere that left drizzles of glitter on the floor, holding what appeared to be a cage of enraged doves. The pair looked at one another before breaking out into smiles. 

“What were we saying?” Chanyeol asked after they were afforded a moment’s peace - once they had escaped the path of the entertainers fleeting from one place to another. 

But the singer was already onto something else. “I think-- that’s him right? Baekhyun’s fiance?” Kyungsoo whispered in Chanyeol’s ear, surprising the author who quickly turned and found himself in the same line of vision with the film director that his former boyfriend had chosen to wed. 

His name was Haneul; and despite all of Sehun and Jongin’s reassurances that the author was far better looking in every respect, the author’s mind drew an inevitable comparison between them that placed him in a _slightly_ lower rank. He wasn’t insecure by any means. In his state, there was no reasonable to be but there were circumstances that unfailingly required a whip of humility no matter how confident a man wanted to be. This was one of them. 

From afar, it was evident that Haneul was of a similar height — an actor in looks, sculpted and proportionate with a smile that was heartwarming even from a distance. 

He was a film director. Baekhyun and him had met at boating school apparently. How many love stories began in boating school? 

 

“Kyungsoo! You’re here!” 

“Hey you, where have you been! Come here!” 

 

A few figures came to greet the singer - some of which Chanyeol recognised to be at the party where they had first met. He greeted them before he too was pulled into the thick inescapable clump of figures by an invisible hand. The author felt himself grow anxious as the distance between him and the singer extended. And as he prepared to utter both a goodbye - to the singer, and to the unwanted visitor that had chosen to claim him -- it was the latter that would save him the trouble.

“Boo!” 

It was Baekhyun. Wonderful - lovely - Byun Baekhyun with the same square boyish smile and deep brown eyes that always seemed to steal a little of the light in a room for himself. He was dressed in a light grey pinstripe suit and wore a bowtie that glittered under the chandelier beam. Chanyeol stared at him for a long while before the other man finally outlived his impatience and took his hands into his.

“Finally you’re here!” He whispered before pulling him away again, “Come! I need to show you something!”

 

-  
-

-
    
    
             **A TENDER LOVE** , _CHAPTER 4_
    
    
    “... Sejong despised dandelions. 
    
    They were feathery like spider webs - and so undeniably weak, so fragmentary, that he could kill a hundred with a single careless swipe. But nothing would stop him from impressing Minhee. Not spiders nor dandelions. And if she believed that they were fairies then so would he. So, he performed the task as promised, Grecian in his dedication, and spent the afternoon blowing on them until he must have emptied his lungs. 
    
    “Minhee,” he gasped when she returned, holding onto his last used stem, “I must have freed a thousand fairies by now!”
    
    The girl snorted and planted her hands strictly on the hips of her lemon striped summer dress. She leaned forwards in inspection, just as their Teacher did, and made a silent assessment of his efforts with a knowing scrunch of her tiny nose. 
    
    “Please Minhee!”
    
    “Okay!” The girl surrendered and landed in a flutter onto the meadow. “One hundred fairies. _One kiss_.” She repeated their bargain and beckoned him forwards with a crook of her finger, “Now close your eyes, servant!--” 
    
    
    
    -
    

-

 

 

“That’s _our_ first kiss! Did you think I wouldn’t notice? You’re such a big goof, Park Chanyeol! Imagine my shock when I read that!”

The book was lightly smacked against the author’s shoulder as he laughed. They were stood in the balcony of Baekhyun’s hotel room - seven floors higher than the ballroom on ground - and far enough away that the party below seemed like a distant murmur. Even the evening wind was louder than the shouts of the percussion. 

“I didn’t think you would read it,” the author admitted.

“What!” Baekhyun always seemed so exaggerated. He enjoyed being reactive - of pushing until he couldn’t. He had always been this way and Chanyeol was reminded of just how charming he was. “Why wouldn’t I? It was the only book that everyone talked about for a _year_. And of course I always did like your writing if you’d believe it.” 

The author acknowledged the compliment with a small smile.

“Have you finished it?”

“Yes of course.” Baekhyun closed the book and tucked it under his elbow, “and I liked it very much. You deserve all the accolades you received. I heard it’s being turned into a film too? Isn’t that swell. I bet it will be a masterpiece.” 

Chanyeol nodded politely again and looked out of the balcony in the ensuing quiet. He thought of and looked at nothing in particular — and returned only when he detected the scent of cigarette smoke and saw Baekhyun offering him a stick. 

“I don’t anymore,” he said with a nod, “But I carry around a box with me for security.” 

The author bowed slightly before taking the object and inhaling slow and deep. His chest swelled, addictively warm, before he looked and realised that the other had been staring at him the whole time. There was that glint, he thought— the one he’d fallen and stayed for. Baekhyun’s eyes were truly magical. Even here in the open he threatened to rob th moonlight.

“I really didn’t think you’d come.” Baekhyun said with a sigh.

“Me either.”

“So why did you?” 

The author shrugged. “To wish you congratulations of course.”

Baekhyun was frowning when he looked at him again. “You could’ve done it at your mother’s house. I was there and you left the room. And that wasn’t the first time.” His tone lowered. “There have been many paths laid out for us over time Chanyeollie but each time you have actively chosen to choose a different one to me.”

 _Chanyeollie_. His childhood nickname. The author looked away from the other at the thought of it— but he couldn’t escape.

They were twelve, sat together in the bed of dandelions at his grandparents summer house. One hundred fairies Chanyeollie. One hundred fairies.

For one kiss. 

Baekhyun wiped his eyes in frustration. Just as he had then. Against the summer sun, there went his pretty eyes again, making his heart follow a rhythm it had never tried before.

“So now you won’t say anything?” Baekhyun demanded prodding the author’s chest with a finger, “Well. Then let me tell _you_ something. Between this and that, you really have to try and stop breaking my heart in the way that you do. Because it _hurts_ Chanyeol. It hurts when you pretend like I’m not there and it hurts even more when I have to pretend like you don’t. I _know_ you think about me—“ he waved the book, breathless, before slamming it against the balcony rail, “I damn well know that you do!”

Thrown back into a memory Chanyeol did the only thing he knew to do. He embraced Baekhyun fully in his arms— knowing that it would soothe him, just as it had during their light and dark days. When their lives fully transitioned and crossed: when the dandelion beds turned into real beds, and the youthful promise of a first kiss lowered to spiteful vows that each kiss would be their last— and the strong limbs of a first love shrivelled into an unrecognizable carcass of regret. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Chanyeol spoke calmly. But it was so clear how badly he wanted to weep. “I’m sorry for everything. You were right- what you said that night. I was selfish and you were better off leaving me. I can’t tell you how often I think about— about how sorry I am for what I put you through. I should have been a better man to you.”

“Don’t act like I’m blameless. And don’t act like you were a monster the whole time.” Baekhyun replied with a light laugh, “We were together for years and for the most part, you were actually quite charming. And loving. Have you read your own book? So much of it is _you_. And you, Park Chanyeol, could make someone with an iron heart fall in love.” Then, he retreated and pulled back to look at the author right in the eyes, “But you were young. I put too much on you. I wanted you to be a fairy prince so badly that I tried to shape you into one-- when you’re just an author. A good one. But you weren’t what I was looking for anymore and I was too frightened to admit it.”

Chanyeol recalled how Baekhyun had wept at his feet— begging for him to stay, for him to reconsider. The voices were fading now though. His Baekhyun had grown and he wasn’t crying out for him anymore. The same pieces; an incongruous pattern.

“I forgave you and I a long time ago. You should try to do the same, Chanyeol.” Baekhyun said. 

He could let go now and it would be fine. The dandelions. They would always be there in the past where they needed to be. 

“I will.” The author nodded and then confirmed with affection and gratitude as he brushed the other’s cheek with his thumb. It was the same gesture — the same boys -- but now it meant something different. More, perhaps.

“Is Haneul your fairy prince?” the author asked after a moment which prompted the other to grin. 

“ _No_ —! In fact I’ve began to suspect that the fairy prince has been living in me all along.” Baekhyun laughed, “But I do love him. It drives me mad. He’s a little more ordinary than our kind. New money boy, You know? Made his money in the pictures.” 

As he spoke, Chanyeol caught sight of the eye-catching rock occupying one of the man’s fingers. He stared at it for a while before asking a curt,

“Can I see it?”

It surprised Baekhyun but he nodded eagerly and rested his hand on the author’s palm. At first glance the diamond appeared absolutely huge. It almost looked like Haneul had stolen a piece of the sky and fixed it to his beloved’s finger. 

Baekhyun grinned sheepishly at the other’s expression. “He really didn’t need to be frivolous—“ he explained, “I always thought I would be the one asking him but he just did it one day completely out of the blue.”

There was so much joy escaping from Baekhyun’s recollections that Chanyeol couldn’t help but point it out. 

“I am so happy for you,” he said warmly.

Baekhyun’s brow raised. “Enough to come to the wedding?”

“I wouldn’t miss it now.” The author reassured him. 

“Good.” Baekhyun placed a hand on his shoulder before looping it around his arm, “And with that promise, I think we should go back to the party before everyone begins to wonder whether we’ve killed each other.”

Chanyeol nodded, feeling lighter - lighter than he had felt in many years as they walked together back into the party. As they did, attention from all sides began to flow but always infallibly poised, Baekhyun suddenly turned to him and whispered—

“By the way, he’s a total cutie pie, your date. You have a type, huh?”

Being reminded of Kyungsoo brought the whole party back into focus and sparked an urge in the author to return to him as soon as possible. Fortunately Haneul was hurried to receive Baekhyun who greeted him with a grin and a comfortable kiss on the cheek. Chanyeol shook hands with the director and spoke a little of the film industry before their small trio expanded into a larger group. Soon enough Sehun, Jongin and Junmyeon appeared and all four old friends gathered and took a few pictures together - reminiscent of their university days.

And then Chanyeol stood and took a solo photograph with the happy couple. He would never forget how widely Baekhyun had smiled -- and how much peace it gave him in return. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Chanyeol returned to the dance floor, Kyungsoo was talking quietly with a friend. They stood close to where many figures were enthusiastically attempting the swing -- all to various levels of success. 

“Hi? Mr. Do can I have this dance?” Chanyeol asked playfully as he appeared from behind and greeted the singer’s friend with a customary handshake.

The delight on Kyungsoo’s expression was unmistakable. He smiled, widely - then shyly, before acknowledging his presence and offer. 

“Sure, Mr. Park, hello. Excuse us-- I’ll see you later. Sure, sure. Of course. Before I leave.”

They turned to face the dancing couples - voices barely audible over the noise. As Chanyeol offered to guide him with an open hand, the singer’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Wait,” he began, “You were serious?” 

“Of course!” cried the author as he threw the hand closer, “I want you to be impressed by me. Can I lead?” 

“But it’s fast!” Kyungsoo said, jaw slack at the sight of the hectic dancing.

“Keep up then!” 

If there was anything that Chanyeol thought was a better motivator for Kyungsoo than an adventure, it was a _challenge_. They were dancing together before long, barely clinging to the pace and the roar of the music as bodies swung in their vision and out as they bumped hips -- clapped hands -- frequently tangled feet and arms and knocked each other off-step and off-angle. No pair laughed as much in the middle of the dance floor, as the author’s limbs flailed in all directions and the singer, with all the grace of a newly birthed duckling, followed the steps of new unfamiliar dances to no success. 

The waltz they attempted next felt more successful for Chanyeol. He led, as promised, and felt clear-headed in the calm as the thrill of the swing ebbed away and the story of the music took over. Kyungsoo’s eyes were on everyone else -- but for the author, the clarity of his vision meant that he only felt compelled to look at him. The solacing song embraced his thoughts, veiling them, as he looked and _felt_ in conscripted silence. The dance lasted a few minutes -- but it was only in the dying seconds of the final note that the veil was lifted and the author was left struck by the hurtling sense of seeing and feeling everything at _once_.

The dancing stopped. Chanyeol stilled as Kyungsoo held his face and then without a single word, embraced him until his head was bowed against his shoulder - standing with him as a shield from the many eyes that surrounded them, the hum of voices - and finally the intervening flash of a nearby camera. 

Then, Kyungsoo whispered something in his ear -- something that was stolen by the sound of the next song which rung across the dance floor. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“That was a great party. Do you really think the wedding will be better?” 

“Absolutely.” 

They returned to the apartment. Chanyeol hung their jackets and followed the other down the corridor to the bedrooms. “Are you going to sleep?” he asked Kyungsoo casually, unsure himself whether what he was feeling was fatigue or restlessness.

The singer paused by his door and shook his head. He turned to the author, expression obscured slightly by the dimness of the space, before he approached and kissed him on the lips. Not quite chaste enough to be a mere goodnight peck. 

“Come to bed with me.” He said simply.

The author visibly swallowed. “To.. sleep?” 

Kyungsoo smiled widely - before the expression softened into one of consolation as he shook his head.

“No. Not to sleep.” 

It had been a while since the author had seen his spare bedroom. Not to say that he didn’t occasionally enter it when their conversations led him there -- but he had surrendered the space to Kyungsoo fully. He wanted to admit that this was an occasion he’d otherwise foreseen, and one he’d emotionally (and practically) prepared for. He wanted to say that he wasn’t overwhelmed and wrangling with nerves and everything else that he had completely dissociated from the practice as a grown man. But in the renewed clarity of his thoughts, he found that he couldn’t deny those things and let them be. 

Kyungsoo pointed out that he was shaking and then whistled to make him laugh.

The tension dissipated with time and then in time, the author accepted the invitation fully, as he settled on the singer’s bed and kissed him lovingly. Gently; but eagerly. They deepened in intimacy and it finally dawned on him now, how much the singer wanted them as he was drawn closer and closer still. His heart began to beat faster with the pace of the sensations. His breaths -- quickened and lost. The singer tugged impatiently at his hair, his shirt, his belt, and then Chanyeol took a pause— a thought.

And it all slowed to focus. 

“If we do this,” he began, “I really can’t see how I’ll be able to let go of you. I will likely to be at your mercy… whether you like it or not.” 

“I like it.” Kyungsoo said unabashedly.

The author smiled. 

“I want you--” the other continued, “but go slowly… as I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Slowly.” Chanyeol nodded as he mulled over the word.

The singer sat up after a good few seconds, laughed softly, before standing atop the bed and pulling the other’s hands to his hips where his unbuttoned slacks still rested. 

“Not _that_ slow, Mr. Author.” 

It was in moderate awe that Chanyeol would watch the other undress.

“What?” prodded Kyungsoo as he returned to the bed and unbuttoned the author’s shirt with fastidious fingers.

“It’s the way you make me feel sometimes.” He placed a kiss on the singer’s bare shoulder, revelling in the warmth of it as he took the newness of it all in -- “I think you’ve driven me absolutely crazy.” 

They made love for the first time that night. Passionate; with a touch of the coyishness of youthful experience, it would become one of Chanyeol’s most memorable and most precious evenings. He emerged from it exhausted -- and if not, a touch unbalanced, by the weight of his new discoveries about Kyungsoo. But loved - and beloved he felt, and in the morning, as the e profound effect of their actions settled on his thoughts, he felt compelled to know what the other thought. If the flowers. If they had contested in any way. All Ifs.

He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. Kyungsoo woke up and after greeting him with a touch on his arm, murmured, 

“It’s Easter, Mr. Author.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol blinked, “You’re right. Already?” 

“Yes-- and the only reason why I’m seeing this sunrise is because of you. Do you realise how amazing that is?” 

It was amazing. Time had slowed so much in the preceding hours that being faced with the future made everything in the present more dazing. But it was clear in his voice, and the sincerity of his expression, that Kyungsoo was truly amazed. Already the sunlight was peeking through the bottom of the curtains in greeting, and Chanyeol watched as the singer smiled at the sight of it.

“I love you.” 

It was Kyungsoo who said it; not the author. It was Kyungsoo who placed a hand on his chest, and pressed against his throat as he dissuaded the flowers, willed them down with determined tears as he repeated the statement again and again until he couldn’t. Chanyeol tried to stop him but the singer fought on and on -- until the petals had filled his lips to the point that he couldn’t pronounce the syllables.

The author said nothing and wiped the other’s tears away. 

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” was all he could say as he smiled, _broken_ \- “I love you too, Kyungsoo. I love you so much.”

And then he helped him to tidy the petals, the room, and by throwing every curtain open the pair bathed their whole apartment in the beautiful Easter sunshine. 

 

 

 

The photograph taken of them on the dance floor featured in Wilmott-Burn’s gossip column the following day, captioned as: 

_A Tender (and new) Love?  
YOUNG HEIR AND DECORATED AUTHOR SHOWS UP TO EX-BEAU’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY WITH NEW ROMANTIC INTEREST._

Kyungsoo loved the photograph and cut it out of the paper, resolute that he would obtain the original film to produce a less grainy picture. 

He stared at it for a long time, beaming, before tucking it into his notebook for safekeeping -- a notebook that Chanyeol was still forbidden from seeing because it was home to the short story that he had vowed only to read at its completion.

“What did you say to me?” Chanyeol asked the singer after remembering that night and how he’d lost the opportunity to hear the other’s whisper. “You said something - but I lost it.”

Kyungsoo smiled warmly. 

“You already know what I said. I felt so much of it after you danced with me. Did you feel it too?”

“I did. So much of it.” 

“You know I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Yeah, me either.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The appeal for Zhang Yixing’s case ran for three straight days with maximal coverage on every press available. The city was less interested in the story due to the simple passage of time -- but there remained a fair bit of commentary on it, particularly on the radio, which meant that Kyungsoo didn’t feel the urge to have to stay at the courthouse at any point as he followed the case’s progression. 

This was particularly helpful because as the days went on, Kyungsoo’s symptoms began to worsen - but as he exceeded his episode count, over and over, he refused to be taken to the doctor, eager to ensure that he didn’t miss a single action from the proceedings. He stayed at home. The daffodils were in full bloom now. Chanyeol often found the singer tending to it as he listened to the radio or read the morning paper. They were growing prettily because they were cared for so carefully. Even despite the fact that the weather was worsening and chipping away at the sunshine it so badly needed to grow.

Chanyeol himself couldn’t maintain interest in the developing story. With his key interest vested in the singer’s health, there was nothing he could do but to ruminate on that and that alone. Occasionally he would listen in - on the new witness statements, the new circumstantial arguments -- but Kyungsoo never spoke of the trial and so he didn’t ask. Life in their apartment in those three days felt eternal and _aged_. As the hours dragged, Chanyeol began to feel progressively crushed by the uncertainty that tormented him at all sides. He stopped sleeping because Kyungsoo wasn’t sleeping-- because he was coughing. It was cyclical; and without the nights, the days were full whole days, and the author began to wonder if he was drowning alive

When the trial ended, Kyungsoo seemed better for the hours that followed and it almost seemed like God had alleviated him. 

But then a day later, Chanyeol received an early morning phone call from Sehun who delivered him the verdict -- ahead of the afternoon judgment. 

He stood there, in his study, in his nightwear - and after asking the journalist to repeat it in his ear, just so he could be certain of its clarity, the author’s left hand twisted in his hair and tugged hard as he then slammed it against the table.

Swearing - lots of it and then the phone was lowered.

When Chanyeol turned, Kyungsoo was already stood by the doorway, consoling his throat as his eyes, widened by a lack of sleep, bulged, and pleaded for his suffering to be taken away.

_The convictions and the penalty were all upheld. Guilty. The execution is scheduled in the next fortnight._

“I’m sorry,” was all that Chanyeol could say, in his shock, as the singer burst into tears and fell to his knees.

The blur of the three days vanished in that instant. Chanyeol held onto the Kyungsoo that was still there in the room, unclaimed by the crushing anguish, as he sobbed into his hands and proclaimed that it was all his doing. 

_It should be me_.

He was trying so much to hold onto him; but there were too many pieces to hold on to and he was rapidly losing the fight.

 _Kyungsoo...n-no!_.

 _He doesn’t deserve this_.

 _I deserve it_.

The petals were everywhere -- they were pouring out of him --

 _Yixing. My poor Yixing_.

_Kyungsoo please stop--_

_Please don’t do this--_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hours later and Chanyeol would find himself in the bathroom of his apartment staring at bloodied hands as Kyungsoo coughed out blood for the very first time. 

There were larger pieces in his expulsions now -- longer pieces that resembled stems -- and with them, there were _thorns_. He identified them as the primary cause of the blood -- as they scratched the singer’s throat and gums in the violence of the upheaval. The petals were also emerging, spattered with blood, with grey - crippled and hard in texture.

Never in a single episode had he ever seen such an extreme volume. Had he seen such a drastic change.

He was lucky that he’d found him as he had. 

“It’s okay.” Kyungsoo’s lips were cut and bloody and his body was swaying, barely conscious, his mind rendered incapable of processing the strain on his physicality - “Kyungsoo-- I’m right here.” Chanyeol slowly guided him onto the floor and held him, his hands covered with the other’s blood and spit as he laid against him, unable to speak through the shock, “I’m right here. It’s alright. It’s all alright.” 

Some of the square tiles were stained bloody. Chanyeol closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see them and pressed his lips to the other’s damp temple, murmuring his reassurances like a prayer, as he allowed Kyungsoo to cough and cough until there was absolute silence.

After setting the man down in his bedroom, he called the doctor and Dr. Kim attended to them in an ambulance. 

Kyungsoo was prescribed painkillers to get him through the night. Dr. Kim decided that he would stay overnight to monitor him and to decide their following steps with consultation from his other expert colleagues. He also reminded Chanyeol to wash the blood off his hands.

After doing so, Chanyeol permitted him to stay and encouraged the doctor to demand for any and all resources at any point. 

 

Then he retired to do something else.

 

 

First Chanyeol came into the spare bedroom to clean up the trail of blood that had started from in there but instead found Kyungsoo’s open notebook on the bed. The spatters would suggest that the episode had started on the bed and so he sat, wary, and looked over at the lasting remnant of the event. 

The photograph in the book was of Yixing. He’d recognised him before he’d even looked closer at the black and white picture. He was just as Kyungsoo had described him -- striking. And in the photograph, presumably taken at the apartment they had shared, he looked even more so against the bareness of their residence. He was sat by the window, smiling - posing with his arms.

There was a flower vase by the curtains.

Chanyeol stared at the photograph for a long time -- probably longer than he was consciously registering and when he grew tired of it, he tucked the photograph back into the book and neatly set it on a table. He then returned to his study where it was revealed to him that the sun had set and everyone was back inside their homes.

The apartment was absolutely quiet for the first time in months. 

Drawing a deep breath in, the author decided to play a record instead of the radio. It was quiet enough not to disturb the others. He set it at the apt speed, twisted the locks on his study doors, and then withdrew to the floor behind his desk. 

He buried his head into his hands and let the song carry him. 

It wasn’t until the end of the record that Chanyeol finally realised that he was sobbing. 

 

 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *
> 
> that was long guys. i hope it wasn't unbearable TT but we survive! it's almost the end of february now. i've been thinking about this chapter for a month and it's finally here and i hope it came across okay. in terms of structure, my mind has crafted that the climax/end of the story will come in the next chapter - and then the end pt.2 / some wispy epilogue will follow. but we are at the cusp of the end and resolution. 
> 
> i am honestly emotionally vacant after writing all of that like a maniac in _< the next chapter, as its emerging will be a very sad one but i'll do my usual pre- chapter warnings and flag anything to you when that comes. thanks as always for being kind exo-ls. be well always! 
> 
> *


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